


When the Clock Strikes 1

by Meelieaaa



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Kidnapping, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood and Violence, Dark Draco Malfoy, Dominance, Evil Draco Malfoy, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Murder, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Powerful Draco Malfoy, Powerful Hermione Granger, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Torture, Violent Sex, Violent Thoughts, no happy ending, sadistic draco malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meelieaaa/pseuds/Meelieaaa
Summary: She was like a worm delving deeper into his brain, squiggling around behind his eyes, forcing her way into the darkest recesses of his moral being. The more he was around her, the less control he had over himself. Insidious, that's what this was. These feelings had snuck up on him and rendered him almost a complete fool, making him feel invalidated, making his feelings seem worthless and unwanted. But he wouldn't stop. No! He couldn't.That damned Granger girl would be his, even if he had to kill to get her.Please read the tags. This isn't a happy, smutty, fluffy fanfic. There will be no happy ending.
Relationships: Dean Thomas/Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood
Comments: 81
Kudos: 317





	1. The Midnight Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This story runs through year 6, start to finish with divergences from the canon storyline.

He sat alone in the foyer; head bent so far over the piano keys anyone who would have chanced a look at the young Malfoy would have thought him asleep. But that was farthest thing from the truth. A haunting melody filled the air as his fingers danced across the black and white keys, his body bathed in the ghostly light of the moon that drenched the room the piano sat in. 

His usually white hair was unnaturally silver in the pale moonlight, its normally flat nature anything but. It was unkempt, shaggy, unclean. He hadn’t bathed in days and he couldn’t remember the last time he had shaved. The last time he had bothered to look in the mirror he saw that dark circles had encapsulated his stunning grey eyes.

The young Malfoy sat at the piano, draped in a plush green robe and bare feet. He hadn’t bothered with slippers when he had awoken from his dream, sweat drenching his brow, shivering from the memories that clung to his mind like wraiths.

Looking down at the sleeping girl next to him, Draco had slipped out of bed, dressed in only his robe and pyjama bottoms, and headed toward the Grand piano that was usually his only solace in the world of magic and blood purity. It wasn’t that Pansy wasn’t a lovely girl, she did anything and everything to make him happy. But perhaps that is exactly why he found her boring now. Sex was boring, the dates were boring, being with her was boring, but it was proper.

In the eyes of his family, Pansy, a pure blood, was one of the most suitable prospects for their son, for their bloodline. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy doted on their son endlessly, catered to his every whim and demand, spoiling him with the latest toys, books and artwork, all they asked in return was that he stuck to their traditions. It was almost too much.

He supposed he was lucky that the mansion was so big. There would be nothing worse than for him to wake someone at this ungodly hour just because he lacked the will to sleep himself, lacked the self-discipline to pick up a book and read or write something down, just to will his eyes to close again. Let people say what they wanted about him, but he truly did care about his family and those who were closest to him.

Breaking his focus away from the piano and lifting his eyes to the large glass doors that sat adjacent to him, Draco’s hands maintained their sombre movements across the piano keys. His grey eyes seemed to be glazed over at the recollection of the memory of his dream, strands of his silvery hair falling across his face with no reaction to the annoying sensation at all.

It had almost been as if she was with him, pressed against his body, her scent filling his nose, the soft lavender and jasmine scent that always followed wherever she went. She had felt so soft, her hair framing her delicate features, her skin satin smooth. He had woken up, confused as to what he was feeling, knowing full well that the girl in his dream hadn’t been Pansy, or any other Slytherin, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff.

These dreams had been haunting his sleep for weeks now, growing more vivid the closer it drew to going back to school, the closer it was to finding out if he were Head Boy, closer to finding out if she was going to be his partner for the last two years of high school. The time seemed to be creeping by, but also going so fast that there was no way to stop the speeding collision that was inevitably going to happen when he finally arrived back there.

This was the start of his sixth year, with an impossible task ahead of him. Failure wasn’t an option, lest his parents lives should forth it. Yet his mind always trailed back to the girl with unmanageable hair and impossibly intelligent eyes. The girl who beat him at every subject and seemed to gloat about it without saying a word. The girl who was in love with that stupid Potter and friends with that idiot Weasley.

Draco hadn’t meant to do it, but he somehow managed to find his hand through the glass pane of one of the doors. How was it that he had not felt the collision of his knuckles on glass, or the inevitable fractures that surely riddled his hand at the force of which he had put his hand through the tempered glass. 

Curiosity bloomed in his depthless eyes and he slowly twisted his arm, letting his hand unfurl with the palm to the sky. Protests of pain shot through his hand in an instant, glass shard falling from the open wounds, blood flowing freely as it dripped onto the concrete floor of the patio. He watched as the dark liquid splashed to the ground, blooming into a distorted depiction of a flower, its petals unfurled toward the moon.

Slowly he pulled his hand back through the hole his hand had created, unseeing eyes assessing the damage done to the skin and bones that now almost refused to do his bidding. He watched as the blood dripped from the open wounds onto the wood floor, the faint drip, drip, drip the only sound to be heard at this time of night. 

Looking up at the door, Draco sighed. He hadn’t even realised he had gotten up, let alone punched his hand straight through the damn door. Hadn’t even felt the pain until the warm summer breeze had flowed past.

Never mind, it was an easy fix.

Draco walked away as he sent a silent command of magic to the broken shards of glass on the floor, causing them to fix themselves back to their original state. 

Gentle footfalls were all the warning he got before delicate arms wrapped themselves around his abdomen, hands splayed, feeling the muscle beneath his skin. Pansy let out a small sigh of relief as her hands ventured north, roving over Draco’s chest before steadily going lower, exploring what lay beneath the band of his pyjama bottoms.

“I missed you when I woke up Draco,” her whiny voice sulked, her hands playing with him freely, trying to get him hard. “I wanted to be woken up and ravished by you but to my great disappointment, you were gone.”

Draco huffed a laugh at Pansy’s insatiable appetite, feeling himself get erect underneath her gentle strokes. She wasn’t the mudblood, but she’ll do for now, until he could get what he wanted permanently. So he turned to face the small girl behind him, smiling a wicked grin, and traced a finger down the side of Pansy’s face, a trail of blood left in its wake. 

“Are you sure you’re up for what I have in mind?” He purred, leaning down to her ear, and nibbling gently on it. The look of slight fear in her eyes was enough to get him completely hard, the blood on her face a subtle sign of his depravity.

Pansy let out a small moan, all thoughts of the bloody hand he had touched her with erased from her memory. “Yes,” was her only reply.

Draco smiled to himself as he picked up the already writhing Slytherin and pushed her against the wall, nibbling and nipping along her neck, her breathy sighs of pleasure loud in his ears. He didn’t have to tell her to wrap her legs around his waist, or to keep her mouth closed as he slid into her. 

Pansy was a perfect example of what he didn’t like in a woman. He didn’t want obedient, he didn’t want meek, he didn’t want quiet. He wanted loud, outrageous, fiery, unbridled. He wanted someone passionate and intelligent, beautiful and fierce. With honey eyes and hair as wild as her spirit, wit as sharp as a knife and loyal to a fault.

Pansy was perfect if you wanted a house cat, but Draco wanted a panther, wild and untameable.

And he knew exactly where to find one.

* * *

Hermione sat on her bed, looking through the cute cottage window that opened outwards to the yard she had grown up with. Her parents sat outside, just below, chattering, and enjoying the late afternoon warmth of the sun. Their quaint ramblings about work and the weather accompanied by the faint chirping of birds and rustle of trees.

The sunlight that streamed through the open window warmed her bedroom considerably, the lavender and jasmine that sat in a planter box just outside of her room wafted their scents inside, filling the space with their lovely perfumes.

Looking around at her childhood bedroom, at the yellow walls that were covered in photographs of Ron, Harry and herself, as well as Ginny, Neville and Luna, Hermione smiled. The memories that accompanied each moving picture a fond one that she would cherish for the rest of her life, memories that she would look back on constantly and smile.

Looking down at the thick parchment that lay in her lap, the Hogwarts wax seal glinting coyly up at her, Hermione bit her lower lip, excitement and anxiety coursing through her body. Of course, she knew what it was and what it was about, there was no denying it. She had the best grades in the school and had the respect of all her teachers, even Snape who tried to hide his delight at such a diligent student.

But who was to be her partner? Who was going to patrol the corridors late at night with her, guide students to the correct classrooms and hand out fair punishments? She didn’t know anyone who came close to her grade score, not that she had actually ever checked anyone else’s scores. When it came to grades, all that mattered to her was that she was at the top, her one true flaw was the vanity and pride she had about her intellect.

Looking back now, the young witch grimaced at the lack of attention she paid to anyone else’s grades. Of course, she helped Ron and Harry when it was needed to get them to pass, but even then, it was only so her friends wouldn’t fail. Hell, she practically did all of Ron’s homework for him.

Huffing a sigh that would make McGonagall proud, Hermione ripped open the letter from the Headmaster. A heavy object fell onto her lap as she quickly scanned through the entirety of its contents, her mouth parting in an infectious smile.

Picking up the pin that had fallen into her lap, Hermione marvelled at the beauty and intricacy of it, as well as what it now meant for her.

Head Girl.

Ron and Harry would be ecstatic, she could practically hear their words of congratulations already.

Wait…

Looking up at the doorway, to where she heard shuffling footsteps, a thud followed shortly by a low grunt of annoyance. There was more than one person, if she were to guess, there were probably three, all at least averaging six foot in height.

“I can hear you,” she called out, her voice betraying the happiness she felt deep within herself for snagging the Head Girl Title.

Slowly, the door to the small bedroom opened and three red headed men came tumbling in, arms and legs intertwining with each other before they fell to the floor in a heap. A sigh of irritation sounded from the hallway before Ginny stepped over her brothers and plopped down on the bed next to her friend, dragging the bushy haired witch into an tight hug before leaning back and glimpsing the badge in Hermione’s hand. A smile split her lovely face, brown eyes shinning in congratulations.

The Weasley brothers looked up at the young witch and beamed, their freckled faces radiating joy and annoyance at the other for being in the way. The twins, Fred and George shoved their lankier brother away from them and stood up, their stocky frames a welcome sight, although, her bedroom was starting to get cramped.

Hermione moved over a little so that the youngest Weasley brother could perch his tall frame somewhere other than the floor where he was sure to get trampled. Taking the opportunity before the twins decided that their younger brother was an excellent substitute for a seat, Ron scrabbled onto the bed and immediately saw the badge.

“Bloody Hell Hermione, Head Girl!” the Ginger exclaimed, folding the young woman into his arms with a massive bear hug, squeezing until all the air in her lungs had been expelled with a surprise laugh. Leaning back and looking her over, Ron beamed, “There was never a doubt in mind that you wouldn’t be by the way, no-one compares with your grades mate.”

Hermione smiled, a proud gleam in her eye. She was ecstatic that her friends were here but someone was missing. Looking toward the hallway, she half expected to see a shock of black hair, glint of green eyes, but there was no one there.

“Dumbledore’s taken him on a mission, asked us to come get you, bring you back to the Barrow,” Fred stated, noting her searching eyes. “He’ll be joining us there afterwards, so you two will have plenty of time to-” But before he could finish his sentence, George had prodded him rather hard in the ribs with his elbow.

A look of gratitude flashed across Hermione’s face at the interruption, a flush of embarrassment creeping across her face at the knowledge that her and Harry’s relationship was intimately known by everyone.

“Yes, well,” the young witch said, brushing flyaway curls from her face. “I guess I should let mum and dad know what the plan is, pack my things, get ready for a year of new responsibility and whatever else it has in store.”

She didn’t wait for a reply as she ushered the red headed men out of her room, closing the door tightly behind them. Ginny smiled radiantly up at her, shoulders shaking with the laughter that wanted to escape hr mouth.

“They mean well Hermione,” The young Weasley teased, dragging the hidden trunk from beneath Hermione’s bed. “They just have a really weird way of showing it. Oh, and don’t worry about telling your parents, they already know what’s happening, Dumbledore sent them a letter a few hours before we got here.”

Packing was quick and seamless, All her clothes, Schooling and not, fit easily and efficiently into the trunk, along with toiletries and cosmetics that she frequented, especially her mothers home-made oil scents that both reminded her of home whenever she got home sick and invigorated her to do much better and try her hardest.

A gentle knock sounded at the bedroom door, Hermione’s trunk open on her bed, almost full to the brim with clothing, books and home décor she would use in the Head Boy and Girls dorms.

“Come in,” the young witch called out, relief flooding her system when she saw that it was her parents, their arms laden with home wares and packages, obviously informed at their daughters accomplishment and what it would entail.

“We’re so proud of you sweety-pie,” Jacqueline cooed, enveloping her daughter in a tight hug, the scent of soap and mint washing up Hermione’s nostrils in a familiar wave of comfort. “We always knew you would be a great woman, and here you are, now Head Girl at school with two years until you graduate!” Jacqueline practically squealed with excitement. “You’re going to go on and do amazing things sweety.”

Hermione looked at her mother and smiled, her heart practically bursting with happiness at the pride she found within Jacqueline’s eyes.

Looking over at her Father, Hermione smiled up at him, wrapping her arms around the awkward man, his glasses slipping down his nose as he handed over a blanket and new pyjama to his only child. “I always knew you were destined for greatness, and this is only the first step sweet-pea.”

Hermione took a step back, her arms laden with parting gifts from her parents, tears swimming in her eyes at the pride she saw in both of theirs. It meant the world to her, and she knew that as long as she kept doing this, her best, challenging herself to be better, everything would pan out exactly as she wanted it.

“Thank you, mum, dad.” She choked out, the tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I really couldn’t have done this without your help and support.”

By the time the four teenagers left, Hermione carrying her trunk in the pocket of her jeans, the Grangers had said their goodbyes, gifts had been exchanged and foreheads had been kissed.

This year was going to be her year, she could feel it in her soul.


	2. Diagon Alley

Hermione stood in the middle of the street, looking up at the outrageous shop front that belonged to the Weasley twins. Purple and green and red and blue were all splattered across the shops front, a bright contrast to the rest of the shops in Diagon alley. 

Boards of wood and broken glass littered the streets as more than half the shops were closed and desecrated, their windows blown out, roofs caved it, some walls blackened from fires started by the ever-growing army of Death Eaters.

A shiver slithered down the young witch’s spine as her eyes trailed over Olivander’s wand shop, its windows boarded up and with glass scattered along the shop front. It was unnerving to see such a staple of Diagon alley look so defiled and beaten.

“Come on love,” a deep voice whispered in her ear as broad hand laced their fingers with her own, tugging her toward the Joke shop that still stood, loud and proud amidst all the destruction that had once been beautiful, “I think you’re in need of some cheering up and the Twins have an excellent assortment of treats and toys that would bring a smile to even your lovely, sad face.”

Looking up at the boy who stood almost a complete foot taller than she did, at his tan skin and green eyes, the shock of black hair that could never be tamed and the crooked glasses that sat loosely on the bridge of his nose, Hermione smiled, giving Harry’s hand a tight squeeze.

“Alright then Chosen one,” She teased, standing on her tiptoes, and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Lead the way and make me smile.”

Without a second’s hesitation, the lanky boy that had hold of her hand sauntered into the shop with the bushy haired witch trailing closely behind him, its bright colours a breath of fresh air compared to the miserable reality that was Diagon alley. 

Young children ran about the shop floor, shrieking with joy as they played with toy wands that squirted water from their tips. Girls swarmed a pink table labelled ‘LOVE POITIONS” each one giggling and laughing at each other as they gossiped about who they would use it on. Young teens stood around the tester section of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, many breaking out in pustules and vomiting into ready there buckets that magically emptied themselves.

“This is amazing,” Hermione breathed, her eyes taking in the joy and splendour that Fred and George had brought to the shopping strip. “They’ve done such an amazing job, look at how happy everyone looks!” The young Witch practically squealed with delight as she looked up at the boy with shockingly green eyes.

“Why thank you Miss Granger,” The pair turned around to find both twins standing behind them, dressed in maroon corduroy suits, yellow ties, and plain black shoes. “All we wanted was to bring a little bit of joy to such a bleak and dreary place.”

“And who would have thought that all anyone ever needed was a joke shop!” George exclaimed when his brother went off, chasing a young boy with a magical water wand, peels of laughter resonating deep within Hermione’s soul.

“You’ve honestly done such an amazing job, I don’t even know where to begin,” Her large, honey coloured eyes roamed the store, taking in the many levels that each claimed their own assortments of goodies, from Peruvian instant darkness powder, to mock invisibility cloaks. “I honestly can’t believe what a wonderful place this is.”

“Oi,” a familiar voice called out, a freckled face popping up next to Hermione’s, his red hair windswept, face flushed red from what she could only assume was something other than the weather. “How much for this?” Ron asked, holding up what seemed to be an innocent toy.

“Five galleons mate,” George replied, a twinkle in his eye as he waited for his brother’s reaction.

It didn’t take long though, the youngest Weasley brother straightened himself to his full height, even taller than Harry, and glowered at his brother. “Yeah, well that’s the normal price, but how much for me?” a gentle crease forming between his brows as he watched his older brother.

“Five galleons.”

“Yeah, but I’m your brother!”

George looked at Ron then and shrugged, his lip quirking up with a cheeky smile. “Ten galleons then.”

* * *

Draco watched from the second floor as the four people below him interacted with each other, the two red headed Weasley brothers, the insufferable Potter and her. He watched as the brothers bickered back and forth, bargaining the price of a silly toy while the other two looked on in amusement, their fingers linked with one another’s.

Crack.

Looking down at the empty bottle that the young Malfoy had been holding, splinters of glass rained onto the floor, shimmering in the glow of the light that shone through the windows. Luckily he hadn’t cut himself this time, mainly thanks to the thick bandage that still covered his healing hand from his assault on the door.

It was getting harder to control his emotions when it came to the Witch below him, with her untameable curls that looked as if they would be as soft as silk, or those liquid honey eyes that seemed to hold the knowledge of a thousand years buried within them.

“Oh,” The shorter Weasley gasped, as if just remembering something. “Fred and I wanted to give you a gift as a sort of congratulations for Becoming Head girl!”

Although it was no surprise, what with her academic record and popularity amongst the teachers, it still sent a spear of excitement to hear the words finally spoken aloud. Malfoy could practically hear her voice, smell her unique scent, as they lived together in such a confined space.

Looking away from the group below, Draco allowed his eyes to roam the rest of the shop, landing on a red haired girl and brown eyed boy canoodling in the corner, giggles rising from the alcove as they kissed and talked in hushed tones.

He supposed it was about time the Weasley girl and Thomas got together, he knew the Gryffindor had been pining over her for some time whilst the young girl was infatuated with Potter. It was a shame that Potter and Weasley hadn’t gotten together though, it would have made this year so much easier, he might have even had a chance to get the Granger girl with flowers, dates and good old fashioned flirting. 

Not that that wasn’t going to happen anyway, but it made things tricky indeed.

But there was nothing wrong with a bit of challenge. It was something to look forward to when they finally went back to school, when their lives would undoubtedly become so entwined that there would be no way to avoid him.

After all, the two of them are now officially house mates, sharing duties as well as living quarters, there was no way that she would be able to avoid him, no matter what she tried.

The letter had arrived only a few days after the incident with the door, the neat handwriting of the Headmaster stating that he was to be the next Head Boy. The heavy badge that was his to wear felt warm in his hands, the intricate details shining up at him in the flickering candlelight of Borgin and Burkes.

Leaving the joke shop unnoticed was easy enough, but he knew that the trio had followed him, their curiosity getting the better of them. It was as if they set out to do nothing more than to hinder his mission and make his life difficult. He had made sure to lower the blinds surrounding the shop windows, blocking the view of the shops inside from the nosy trio. That didn't stop the want to let Granger in on his private life though.

Quickly, he shook his head, dismissing the thought. 

His father had clasped him on the shoulders, pride radiating through every inch of his tall frame as his eyes devouring the badge in his sons’ hand. “Congratulations Draco,” his smooth voice filled every corner of the empty shop. “I always knew you would do me proud, and that I am indeed.”

Draco had flashed a smile at his father and pocketed the badge, its weight a comfort as he walked around the shop, the oddities that were piled high throughout gleaming and whispering, oftem catching his eye as he passed them.

Draco came to a stop in front of a full-length mirror, his black, tailored suit immaculate compared to his surroundings. He had deigned to shave the beard that had started to grow on his face, allowing the house elves to work their magic on his hair as well, taming it into a sleeked back ponytail that allowed his striking features to be shown off. As soon as one of them had brought out a pair of scissors, he had commanded they be put away though. The length of his hair, down to his collar, had grown on him over the holidays, and he wanted to continue to grow it. A bit of hair flopped over his eyes every now and then, too short to be tied back, but the roguish look it gave him, much like a wolf in sheep’s clothing gave him a sense of glee.

Looking at his face, Draco noticed that the dark circles that had once been nothing but a side effect of the sleepless nights he had endured seemed to be a permanent addition to his face now. Even though this irked him, he found that his eyes were far more prominent, far more captivating, than what they were beforehand.

Shaking his head, hands deep within his trouser pockets, Draco kept meandering around the shop as his father continued his conversation with the shop owners. He tried to ignore the other Death Eaters that were stationed at the front and rear exits, tried to ignore the sidelong glances and nods of encouragement that they all gave him, the disappointment in Greyback’s eyes at his refusal to take the mark, but the respect that also shone through at his boldness to stand up to the Dark Lord.

The young Malfoy stopped in front of an old cupboard, its wooden doors glossed black, the hinges brass and the handle polished obsidian. It was a mesmerizing piece of furniture, it was almost as if it called to him, singing his name in a sweet voice that sent shivers running rampant up and down his spine.

Heavy footsteps approached from his left whilst lighter, more hobbled ones sounded from his left. “You have a good eye young Master Malfoy,” a croaky voice rasped beside him.

Draco looked over at the older gentleman, Mr Borgin, with his thinning hair, crooked nose, and toothy grin. His business partner, Mr Burke, stood on the opposite side of him, tall and thin, grey hair plaited down his back with a monocle on his left eye.

“If you can find the pair to this item, you can transport anything between them.”

The young Malfoy cocked his head at the ancient man to his left, Mr. Borgin, and smiled. “even a living thing?”

A raspy laugh tore itself from behind him, Mr Burke’s cane clacking on the ground as he hobbled over to the pair standing in front of the dresser. “I don’t believe anyone has ever tried to send through a living thing before, but that is not to say that it cannot be done.”

“Do you know where its sister is?”

The elder gentleman looked up at the young Malfoy and smiled a toothy grin. “Would you believe that last year, a Hogwarts student could be heard screaming for help in our shop? We searched high and low for him, even inside the cabinet, where the screaming was loudest, but unfortunately there was no-one there.”

Draco recalled the incident with the Weasley twins. They had taken Montague and shoved him into a cabinet. They had caused him serious damage, leading to weeks in recovery. 

Realisation dawned on the young Malfoys face as he realised that the sister cabinet was hidden somewhere at Hogwarts. Most likely in the one place where students took things to make them disappear, make them vanish without being able to be found.

“Father,” His voice rang out through the shop, his eyes glinting with self-proclaimed pride. “I know how to get Aunt and the rest into school.”


	3. Meet Your New Partner

It seemed as though the train had more students than usual on it this year. Or perhaps the realisation of what she was now in charge of, the weight of her role, was officially starting to dawn on her.

Each carriage was full of students, young and eager to get to school, to reunite with the friends that they hadn’t yet seen or bumped into. To dive headfirst into classes that were new and exciting. Their faces practically beamed and glowed with excitement, and it was contagious.

The young witch wondered, not for the first time, who would be Head Boy, who had the honour of such a title and how they would react to her being by their side on this strange new journey that they were on. As their first duty, they would both have to travel in the boats across the lake, taking the first years up the steps of the ancient castle, watching their faces ignite with glee and wander.

Not for the first time either, she wondered why the Headmaster had given out the badges a year early. Surely there had been suitable candidates this year. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he knew of the task ahead of Harry, Ron and herself next year and wanted to give her a chance of normalcy before such a task took over their lives.

Harry had spent most of the evening at his first night at the Burrow filling them in on what he was planning on doing this year with Dumbledore, hunting down Horcrux’s. It was extremely transparent of their Headmaster, to tell them what was transpiring. Maybe he realised that they needed to be informed, kept up to date. Harry also informed them of Dumbledores mission to find another one and destroy it, to help them along the way. He had already discovered and decimated one, which was why the headmaster wanted to keep going on this lucky streak that he felt they were on.

Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, a small migraine starting to worm itself into the back of her mind. With the information Harry had relayed, she was astounded that the headstrong boy hadn’t charged off, ready to hunt them all down and destroy each Horcrux until it was only Voldemort left.

Hermione guessed that was one of the reasons she truly cared for him. It had only been the past year, when they had broken into the Ministry and Harry had Faced Voldemort alone that her feelings had made themselves abundantly clear to her.

Now, heading toward the bathroom at the end of her carriage, Hermione smiled to herself, a small flush creeping over her freckled skin. He had been her best friend for 5 years, going through absolute hell together. They were the golden trio, inseparable, Ron, Harry, and herself. Wherever one went, the other two followed. And over those years, Harry had grown into someone that had become more than a friend. Helping her save Buckbeak, her consoling him after Sirius died. Then seeing him, closed off, surrounded by magic in the Ministry of Magic’s foyer, it had felt as if everything inside of her had frozen, only regaining feeling when Harry had won his internal struggle, defeating Voldemort once again.

She had rushed to him an clamped her mouth down on his, her arms slung around his neck, hands in his shaggy, black hair. She hadn’t cared what the others would think, didn’t care that Ministry representatives had arrived, witnessing Voldemort’s return. No All that mattered was the boy in her arms, his mouth on hers, his golden skin warm beneath her touch.

She didn’t pay attention to how she had gotten to the bathroom, or that she had closed the door behind her, locking out the chatter of the excitable students Harry’s smile flashed across her mind, filling her soul with a warmth she would never quite grow accustomed too. She was already dressed in her school robes, with only half an hour left until they arrived at Hogwarts, she wanted to be as prepared as possible, the Head Girl badge pinned safely to the front of her robes, glistening in the soft glow of the train lamps.

Looking at her reflection, Hermione ran a smoothing hand over the unruly curls that graced her head, a medley of colours hidden in their tresses. Taking in the rest of her appearance, the thick lashes that outlined her eyes, the paleness of her skin with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks, with a slight flush gracing them, she deigned herself appropriate enough for now, promising herself a trip to the hairdressers to try and tame the curls that were almost too bothersome at times.

Stepping out of the loo, still in a daydream, her head collided with the chest of someone tall and sturdy, a small oof escaping her lips as she took a couple of steadying steps back, embarrassment quickly replacing the warm feeling inside her chest.

Instantly, her eyes caught the light gleaming off the Head Boy badge, a shock of nerves coursed through her body as she realised that her partner was standing right in front of her and she had run directly into him without realising it.

“Watch it Mudblood.” A cold, melodic voice sneered. It was as if ice cubes had been dropped down her top as she heard it, knowing that grey, hard, calculating eyes accompanied it, with hair as white as snow and a domineering presence.

Shit.

Looking up at the boy that stood before her, taking in his cold stare and slightly downturned mouth, Hermione cocked an eyebrow, trying to feign annoyance at his sudden apparition. Even though her heart thrummed at a million miles an hour, she was not intimidated by the boy that now stood in front of her. He had teased and taunted her enough that she now knew how to block him out, acting as if he almost didn’t exist.

“The last time you called me that Draco was just after I broke your nose, I’d be happy to re-enact the scene if you call me that again.” She mused, standing with one hand on her hip, her eyes looking into his, allowing as much disdain to shine through as she could muster, indifferent to the fact that he was going to be sharing a living space with her in a matter of hours.

Draco didn’t bother with a retort, his grey eyes roving over her until they landed on the golden badge with Head Girl engraved on it. “I’m not surprised they chose _you_ ,” he drawled, his eyes changing to liquid silver as she bristled at the exaggeration of the word, seeming to delight in how he made her uncomfortable. “They always seemed to favour you, especially when you beat me in everything, even if it was by half a mark.”

Hermione felt surprise resonate inside, her eyes widening imperceptibly. How had she never realised that he was that smart? She guessed it was her hubris, her intellect, the fact that no-one compared. But here stands a young man, proclaiming that he was just as good.

Looking back at each class, she realised that even though Draco was a loudmouth and loved to gloat about everything, his marks were something he held very close to himself. She had always thought it was because they were terrible, that he was ashamed. If she had only beaten him by half a mark in most subjects, then she had underestimated him greatly. That will teach her not to pay attention to how everyone else was doing.

“Yes,” Hermione quipped, making to move around him since he wasn’t going to shift. “Well I’m sure if you’d have applied yourself just that tiny bit more, you could be head of class. You have the brains evidently.”

The young Malfoy lifted his lip in distaste at her words, casually placing a hand against the wall, blocking her path. Slowly, he leaned down so that his mouth was level with her ear, the smell of sandalwood forcing its way up her nose. “You don’t know me Granger,” He mused, his breath brushing against her neck. “Perhaps I wanted you to be ahead of me in all our classes. The way you gloated without having to say a word, the superior look in your eyes that seemed to light up the classroom, maybe that’s what I wanted to see before I finally had enough and overtook you. Maybe I’m just being nice and giving you a head start until I inevitably leave you in the dust this year. Either way,” He sighed, a chuckle escaping his too close mouth, the warmth of his words seeming to caress the skin of her ear, “You’re stuck with me now, whether you’re ahead or not.”

Before she could compute what he had just said, or command her body to move, Draco was gone, the carriage door to the next one over closing with a quiet click.

Revulsion nestled deep within her stomach as the memory of his breath against her neck started to fade, the cold air of the empty hallway biting down on the now empty skin. She didn’t mean to rush back to the carriage, and before she entered, a few calming breaths filled her lungs before she joined everyone inside.

Looking at her friends, she felt the weight of her interaction with Malfoy slowly seep from her mind, letting the conversations around her distract from the year ahead. Slowly looking around, Hermione noticed, with quiet enjoyment, that Luna was leaning against Neville, the latter having gently wrapped his arm around her waist, his thumb rubbing soothing, circular motions on her stomach.

Hermione stared, smiling at Luna, the blonde-haired girls’ eyes twinkling in confirmation at her unspoken question. The same questions was bounced back at her when Luna pointedly looked at Hermione’s leg, where Harry’s hand was casually placed as he talked animated with Ron.

A small blush crept across the young witch’s cheeks as she realised that Harry was stroking her in what she assumed was his attempt to calm down the nerves that he could feel pounding through her body. Even though she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even tried to convey her discomfort or dismay, Harry had somehow picked up on it.

“Tell us what’s bothering you Hermione,” Ginny finally asked, her brown eyes searching her face with something like worry buried deep within them. “You’ve barely joined in the conversation, even when we started talking about books, there was no reaction. What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” The young witch sighed, leaning into the comfort of the tall boy sitting next to her. It seemed almost instinctive for him to wrap an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. “I found out who the Head Boy is and he ended up cornering me just after I left the bathroom.”

Everyone in the compartment practically leaned in, interest plastered all over their faces.

“Draco Malfoy.”

* * *

The smell of Lavender and jasmine filled the train carriage, wafting through the closed doors and through each compartment. It was as if it beckoned him toward its source, the tendrils of its scent wrapping up his nostrils, gently tugging at him until his body relented and followed its heavenly aroma. 

He saw her first, her soft lips turned upward in a small smile, a delicate blush gracing her fair, freckled skin as she walked through the carriage, her eyes soft and delicately framed by those thick lashes of hers. 

The young Malfoy stood in the shadows of the connected carriages, the young witch in front of him oblivious to his curious gaze. As she drew closer to his hiding spot, Draco sunk further into the shadows, silver eyes glistening in the dark that swallowed him. It seemed as though she didn’t notice though, her mind far away, replaying other memories or thoughts that he knew, without a doubt, didn’t involve him.

Anger simmered deep within his soul as Granger locked the bathroom door behind her, blocking her from view. Her heady sent still clung to the air as Draco waited for her to emerge, biding his time by picking his nails clean, the tailored suit underneath his robs staving off the chill of the carriage.

The click of the bathroom lock brough his attention back to the present. He hadn’t meant to move into her path, hadn’t expected her to quite literally run into him. He always thought she looked where she was going, careful not to bump into anyone. Yet here she was, head full of daydreams, running into him without a care in the world.

She hadn’t noticed that it was him, she was so short she didn’t even reach his chin, yet when she finally looked up, after his words had shocked her into standing like a statue, her eyes were almost his undoing. They were like molten honey with whirls of chocolate gliding lazily through them. The thick lashes that surrounded them seemed to give them the illusion that they were half lowered, flirting with him. But that notion was quickly put to rest. He knew better than that.

He watched her mouth as she spoke, absorbing every word that she spoke, noticing the defensive way she stood, hand on hip, the tapping of her foot. This irritated him for some reason, her eagerness to leave his presence, spoke about his grades, that he was not surprised that she had gotten the Head Girl position.

But she made to leave, and he didn’t want that, not yet. He wanted to spend more time with her, devouring her with his eyes, inhaling her intoxicating smell. So he had stopped her with a lazy hand in her path, and said some very stupid things. He’d be lucky if she didn’t go tattle to Potter and Weasley, be lucky if they didn’t show up in his carriage and beat the ever-living shit out of him.

Sitting down in his compartment now, Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle all prattled on around him as he stared out of the window, the sky darkening as the night slowly absorbed what was left of the suns light.

Her scent still clung to him, that sweet lavender and jasmine that had managed to encroach his dreams, seeping into every thought he had about her, slowly driving him mad with its tantalising aroma. He thought he had imagined what she had smelt like for so long, just a mere dream, but knowing that he had been accurate all along, he needed more.

_Wait, what the hell am I thinking?_

Shaking his head and resting it in his hands, a headache starting to pound in the front of his forehead, Draco let out a small groan. Slowly, he let his head rest on Pansy’s lap, her spindly fingers playing with the new length of his hair, soothing him into a calmness he didn’t realise he needed.

Slowly he closed his eyes, letting the gentle motion of the carriage sway him into a gentle sleep.

The young Draco lay there for god knows how long, his stomach twisting itself in knots, his instincts telling him that he was being watched by forces unknown. Opening his eyes and looking about, he thought he saw the edge of a trunk move slightly, his silver eyes sliding away from the area so as not to arouse suspicion with whoever/whatever was there.

By the time the Train had come to a complete stop in the station, the young Malfoy ushered his friends ahead of him, telling them that he would meet them in the Great Hall, that he had business to attend to as Head Boy.

It wasn’t an outright lie, but he also wanted to see who this mysterious eavesdropper was. Without saying a word, Draco’s eyes slid to where he thought said person might be, sending a silent Stupify their way.

A loud crash filled the compartment as a heavy body fell to the floor, round glasses appearing from what seemed to be nowhere. Striding to where the glasses had suddenly come into view, Draco bent down, feeling for what he knew was Potter’s invisibility cloak.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it was rude to eavesdrop Potter,” he drawled, as the fabric in his hands slid off the stunned young man at his feet. His eyes took in the pathetic sight, his mouth quirking upwards into a smile.

The young Malfoy watched as Harry’s green eyes glowered up at him, his chest heaving with the strain against the curse, trying everything to move.

“Oh wait,” the blonde-haired boy sneered, instincts kicking in as he brought the heel of his black leather shoe down on the bridge of Harry’s nose. A satisfying crunch echoed around the compartment as blood started to ooze from Potter’s now broken nose. “She’s dead.”

Malfoy looked at the incapacitated boy at his feet, then at the cloak in his hands. A gleam in his eye was all the warning Harry got before Draco folded the cloak up and tucked it neatly into his robes.

“I think I’ll confiscate this Potter, and don’t try and Accio it back, we both know it won’t work.”

As Draco walked away from the stunned young man in the compartment, a small smile graced his lips, turning them upwards where a natural sneer usually adorned them. So many uses could be had with Potter’s invisibility cloak, there would be no need for pretending to be out on Head Boy business, all he’d have to do is put it on and be on his merry way.

It didn’t take the young Malfoy long to find the docks, the soft material of the invisibility cloak brushing against his arm with every stride he took. Now that he finally had something of use in his possession for getting around Hogwarts undetected, the possibilities were endless.

* * *

Hermione stood on the docks of the lake; wand held high so that all the first year students could see where she was, a small light radiating gently form her wand tip. She had gotten there before him, the tension in her body slowly subsiding from the thought of having to have a confrontation with him.

A soft white glow started to shine from the rear of the first-year students gathered before her. Apparently, it had been too much to ask that Draco trip and die on his walk over to the docks. She glanced at him, head held high, trying her best to seem indifferent toward his presence. His liquid silver eyes looked directly at her; a delicately arched eyebrow raised in a question, as if to say _Go on miss know it all, show me how it’s done._

A soft flush started to burn across the young witch’s face as she averted her eyes, anger radiating from her petite frame. She knew he’d have a smile on his face at having successfully gotten underneath her skin. But she would not let him win, her eyes connecting with his again, forcing all the hatred she had for him in that one look.

“All right students,” She called out, voice crystal clear and loud enough to reach the students at the very back. “My names Hermione Granger, and that behind you is Draco Malfoy.” The fresh group of students looked up in awe at the two senior students, their eyes filled with wonder. “Now, if you’re all ready, let’s get into the boats and begin your magical first year at Hogwarts!”

The children swarmed forward, badgering and pushing each other to get into the boats that lined the docks, their eyes bright with amazement, whispers and gleeful laughter filling the night air.

Hermione meandered over to the very front, taking a seat in the boat that would lead the way, her eyes scanning the faces of new students, their happiness contagious. Unfortunately, her boat partner was Malfoy, and his tall frame did little in the way of giving her personal space as he sat down opposite her.

Draco refused to look at the young witch though, his demeanour relaxed as his eyes looked up at the castle that loomed in the distance, a medley of emotions swam through those molten silver pools, unfortunately none of them she could decipher. 

Hermione took a moment to truly look at the young Malfoy man, at the hair that was past his collar, swept back into a sleek ponytail, a loose strand falling stylishly across his face. His eyebrows were delicately arched, giving him a constant look of nonchalance and aloofness. White eyelashes framed his cruel, cold eyes. His cheekbones sat high on his face, sharp and angular, his jaw surprisingly strong, more refined than when she had last seen him. Looking at his lips, she saw that they were thin, but not unpleasantly so, his bottom lip definitely fuller than the top. He had also grown a fair amount over the holidays, his body lithe, no doubt hiding muscle underneath the suits and robes he wore.

Leaning back and looking away from the young man that sat in front of her, Hermione loosed a sigh. He would be handsome if his personality wasn’t so horrible. The past five years, of his constant bullying, name calling, physical altercations with Harry and Ron, leering and sneering. He was the most vile person she had ever met. Yes, he could be handsome, but his personality and actions told a completely different story.

* * *

What he had said to her had been a mistake, a lapse in his control which could no longer happen. This position, Head Boy, gave him ultimate power as a student, yet if he lost this position, he would be like everyone else, and that was something he simply could not condone. So the young Malfoy ignored the young witch in front of him, letting his body do what it did best and feign arrogance, letting himself relax and unwind after what was an exciting end to his train ride.

He wondered whether Potter had been found before the Train had departed back to London, or whether the fool was still immobilised in the compartment, bloody and beaten. He deserved it though, sneaking into his private life, listening in on his groups mundane chatter, probably trying to get a glimpse behind the mask he showed everyone.

Out of his peripherals, he could see the scrutinizing eyes of Hermione look him over, once, and efficiently. There was nothing in that look that suggested it was more than just an observation, there was no gleam in her eyes as she took him in, no glimmer of appraisal or lust that he had seen many young women look at him with. No, she was quick, cold, and calculating, nothing more. 

It was clear that she held no love for him and that was perfectly alright with him, or so he told himself. He can work with an uptight bitch as long as she did her part in their role and didn’t get in his way.

“I don’t want Potter or Weasley in our rooms,” he drawled, pretending to look at his nails and pick non-existent dirt from underneath them. “The last thing I want is those two hovering around when all I want to do is study or relax.”

“No deal.”

“I’m sorry,” The young Malfoy cooed, slowly leaning forward and clasping his hands together while his elbows rested on his knees. In this position and on such a small boat, they were no farther than a couple of centimetres apart. He could feel her magic charging the air around him, small pricks of electricity that seemed to jitter along his arms. “I don’t think I heard you right. I won’t be having any of my group aside from Blaise, and he is nothing but a perfect gentleman. Your two morons are loud and boisterous. I don’t want them disturbing my home space.”

The look that flashed across the young witch’s face was so cold she could have frozen the sun. It took his breath away, the sight of such distaste and anger directed toward him. “I said no deal. I will have whomever I want in my personal living space. Just because you do not like me or who I associate with does not mean I have to give up my happiness for yours.”

It was an effort not to let the shock he felt at being spoken to that way slide over his face. Well now, this was a surprise. He knew that she was feisty, his broken nose in their third year was evidence enough of that, but to have a woman much shorter than he as well as a filthy mudblood speak to him in such a manner made his blood boil. But he couldn’t quite decipher whether it was from anger or something else.

Leaning back, Draco smiled, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Fine,” was all he said, before turning away from her completely, face a mask of calmness, hiding the turmoil he felt deep within himself.

What a fascinating creature. No wonder he hadn’t been able to think of anything but her for the past few weeks. Or maybe it had been longer, and he’d only just begun to realise now what an effect she had on him.

Never mind, he was stuck with her now, and she him. These next few years would be a true test of both their resolves, with each other and themselves.


	4. In The Dorm

Unpacking his things in the Head Boy’s and Girl’s dorm, Draco couldn’t shake the thought of her sleeping just across the hall from his own bed chamber. For the longest time he had hated her, finding her insufferable, a goody two shoes that wanted nothing more than to be the best at everything.

Over the years, he had always seen her the same, buck teeth, big bushy hair, bossy voice. These were all things he used to hate. He hated that she was smart, hated that she had friends and didn’t deign to acknowledge him unless he was cruel or mean. So that’s what he did all the time. He didn’t want to waste his time with a filthy know it all of no particular calibre. But something in him had always pushed him to make an effort to interact with the bossy witch.

He didn’t know when those feelings eventually turned to curiosity. It perhaps started during last year’s schooling, with him hunting down the group of students that had taken to hiding, learning spells that were not in the curriculum. That was his true first taste of power, and the first time he had truly seen her. Seen her for the strong, intelligent, beautiful woman that she was.

He saw her honey eyes swirling with rage and knowledge beyond comprehension, the hair that had once been a hideous eyesore now captivated him completely, showing hidden colour within their unruly tresses. The teeth that had once been too big now fit her mouth perfectly, often hidden behind lips that looked so soft, so pink. He had realised that she had become something altogether different, something that captivated him completely.

When they had captured them, Hermione’s body pressed firmly to his own as his group had marched them to Umbridge’s office, when her scent had finally weaselled its way into his brain, burying deep into its darkest recesses. He had felt her skin, how soft it had been, He hadn’t been as tall then, but he still had a good few inches on her, and she was still smaller, her arm easily fitting inside the grasp of his fingers.

He hadn’t been gentle when he had dragged her along, he knew he had left bruises that encircled the tops of her arms. Those thoughts had created an opening for far more violent ones to take place. But he didn’t want to acknowledge them, didn’t want to admit that this young witch was slowly consuming him.

Without thinking, the young Malfoy threw a leather-bound book against his closed door, the resounding bang of its impact echoing throughout the abandoned dorm. He had forgone dinner, leaving as soon as Professor McGonagall had taken over the escorting of the first years. Instead, Draco had made a beeline straight to his new dorm, posture stooped, strands of hair falling into his face. To anyone looking at him as they passed, his brooding exterior was enough to get them to scurry onward.

The dark circles around his eyes seemed to deepen with each passing second. It looked as if someone had punched him, bruising his eye sockets. Pansy had made a flippant remark about how he should use concealer to cover them up, but looking at them now, his reflection staring back at him with small spark in his eyes, he decided he would rather have them than put something on his skin that would cause an irritation.

The bathroom that was attached to his bedroom was spacious, with a claw-foot bath, golden fixtures, and black tiled floor. The mirror was gilded in gold and the towels that hung over the rack next to the bath were plush and green. A silver embroidered snake sat in the bottom left corner of each towel and it was sprawled across the back of the robe that hung on the back of the bathroom door.

Deciding a hot shower would help to erase all thoughts of the Mudblood from his mind, Draco stripped off, leaving the pile of clothes where they lay on the floor, untying his hair from its trapping and letting it flow freely to his shoulders. He ran a pale hand through it, letting it flop naturally to the left.

He didn’t hear the portrait door open, or the huff of fury that accompanied soft footsteps through it. What he did hear though, from inside the steam filled shower, his hair slicked back and running down his back, was the loud, insistent banging that echoed from his bedroom into the bathroom.

There was only one person that could be, no-one else knew where these dorms were, let alone know the password already. At the prospect of coming face to face with her already, the young Malfoys’ heartbeat spiked. He could feel it in his throat and along the insides of his elbows and wrists. Immediately, without a single thought in his mind, Draco wrapped a towel around his hips and sauntered over to the door, opening it wide, eyes glinting with malice down at the young witch who now glared up at him, completely indifferent to the fact that he was dressed in nothing but a towel. It shocked him to see the amount of hatred in her eyes, turning them from liquid honey to hard as amber. It rocked him to the core, but it somehow also excited him as well.

“How fucking dare you,” Her voice quivered, rage radiating deep from within, practically slapping him with the force of it. “How fucking dare you do that to Harry.” He didn’t see any movement, didn’t even realise that her intention was to do so, but only a second later, he felt the sting of skin against his cheek.

The Mudblood had struck him.

Surprise rocked Draco backwards as his mind processed what had just happened. It seemed his body didn’t need time to process though, for the next thing he knew, he had her wrist in his hand. He wasn’t crushing her with force, but he knew that if she tried to pull away, she would fail.

The young Malfoy looked down at the young witch as he straightened to his full hight, the fury he felt reflected in her own eyes. He wanted to see her unleash that anger, that hatred upon him, see what she could be capable of, but there was something else there as well, something like fear. Good. Slowly he pulled her toward him, dragging her hand behind his body as she fought against his strength. The young Malfoy ignored her struggles as he lowered himself so that he was looking at her directly in the eye, relishing in the fear that started to make itself more evident in her eyes. “Lay another hand on me Granger, and we’ll see how much I dare to do.” He whispered, his other hand grabbing her chin as she averted her eyes, an angry flush blooming across her porcelain skin. He would not let her look away, would not let her attack him without forcing her lovely eyes to remain on him, to look at what she had done.

Draco could feel the erratic pounding of her heart through the pressure point his fingers were pressed against on her wrist, feel the heavy breaths she exhaled onto his face. He could practically taste the fear in the air as he kept her in place. Amber eyes, bore into his grey ones, challenging him to do something, otherwise he best let her go.

The urge to slam her against the wall, to press his body against her, to crush her lips beneath his own as she struggled to get away, was almost overwhelming. He could practically hear her fear-filled whimpers, feel her hands pushing against his chest, trying to push him away. His eyes darted toward her full lips, instinct kicking in.

Before he lost control completely, the young Malfoy relinquished Hermione, shoving the young witch away before he did something he would inevitably regret and strode back into his room.

Before closing the door however, Draco looked over his shoulder and watched as the young witch stumbled back, rubbing her wrist where he had touched her. “I don’t think this petty squabble would go down well with any of the teachers, Granger,” He drawled, his voice soft as he watched her turn away from him, her bottom lip quivering. “You attacked me first on what your boyfriend accused me of, without any circumstantial evidence. You are in the wrong, and I’d make sure that everyone knew it.” The young wizard didn’t wait for her reply as he slammed the door closed with a swift nod of his head.

Looking down at his towel clad body, Draco disgusted yet not surprised that his cock was fully erect, the thought of her fear filled eyes stirring some long, dormant part of his inner being. He had relished the thought of her fearing him, of those big, honey colour eyes filled with tears as his hand struck her face hard enough to split her lip. It was the least she deserved after striking him, after laying her filthy hands on him.

Heading back to the still running shower, Draco groaned as the water cascaded over his too sensitive skin, turning the pale into bright pink streaks. He didn’t hesitate as he started to jerk off, picturing that Mudblood begging, his hands connecting with her pretty face over and over again, blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth.

* * *

Hermione didn’t register her actions until Malfoy had her trapped in his grasp, forcing the young witch to look up at him as shame and fear ran rampant through her body. What had she been thinking? It was obvious that all logical though had left her mind, leaving pure instinct to drive her body. And that instinct had led her straight to the vipers’ pit.

When Harry had entered the Great Hall, a blood-soaked rag pressed to his nose, Hermione saw red and nothing else. She knew that there was only one person who was vile enough to assault a student and then be too much of a coward to face the consequences. It explained why Malfoy wasn’t there with the rest of the Slytherins, why Pansy looked so forlorn and Crabbe and Goyle looked so lost.

Harry had explained everything, and unfortunately, even if they did take it too McGonagall, Harry would get into trouble for using the Invisibility cloak under misguided reasons. Spying on fellow students was a breach of privacy and Draco had every right to retaliate.

So the young witch bided her time, fixing Harry’s nose after filling his plate with a large assortment of food, the conversation of her peers nothing but background noise as her mind ran through the sorts of punishment she should inflict on the newly crowned Head Boy.

Harry had told Hermione to forget that it had ever happened, worry evident in his eyes as he watched her calculate and reconsider every possible course of action and its subsequent consequences. He knew she had a temper, knew that it got ahead of the young woman at times as well, forcing her to act out of action.

Finally, when her eyes had shifted back into focus, every outcome just as grim as the last, Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’s been holding. It seemed as if the anger that had boiled within had just as quickly abated. It seemed as if the young witch’s mind had cooled down enough to let her eat something, finally joining in with the conversation with the rest of the group.

Looking over at the young man with shockingly green eyes and a mess of black hair, Hermione offered up a small half smile, a flush creeping across her face as his eyes seemed to stare deep within her soul. Those eyes didn’t miss anything, least of all about her.

“I’m calm now Harry,” Hermione had whispered, bumping him lightly with her shoulder as she raised a fork full of mashed potato to her mouth. “I promise I won’t do anything rash.”

That had been a lie though. For as soon as she had bid goodnight to everyone and made her way to the Head student’s dormitory, the rage she had managed to supress came boiling back to the surface.

It seemed as if Malfoy was becoming more vicious as the years went on. It had started as nothing more than a few insults slung back and forth, and that slowly upgraded to physical altercations between Harry, Ron, Malfoy and a few of the Slytherins that always prowled in his shadow. Then last year, when he had grabbed her so hard by the arm that dark purple bruises had formed by the time they had escaped.

It was as if he was finally coming out of his shell, unapologetically unafraid of who, or what, he might be.

Each passing second, every footfall that brought her closer to the boy that had once been an insufferable prick, every heavy breath that brought her nearer to a man that seemed to have no remorse, stoked the fire that was building deep within her soul. For Harry, Ron, for those he had bullied mercilessly until they had cried, until some had vomited and begged him to stop his torment.

She had once thought him lonely, perhaps even misunderstood, but it was evident that the type of man Draco was, was anything but misunderstood or alone.

Before she had realised what was happening, her fist was colliding with the sturdy wooden door of his rooms, his name a curse that she flung out into the night, trying to get his attention. What she hadn’t expected though was a half-naked Draco, with a towel slung low on his hips, to be glaring down at her, body still wet from the shower that was still running in the connected bathroom.

The words had tumbled out of her mouth, barely restrained fury causing her voice to tremble as she glared up at the young Malfoy in front of her, his eyes solid as malice resonated from deep within them. He towered over her, but that didn’t stop her hand from connecting with his face, or the satisfaction of him rocking backwards at the shock and surprise of her attack.

Hermione had made to leave then, having had enough of his presence, but a strong grip held her in place, cold fingers wrapping themselves around her wrist, anchoring her in place. Draco wasn’t hurting her, but looking up at him, at the shuttered eyes that bore into hers, at the leering stance he took as he slowly dragged her toward him, fear radiated throughout her body. Looking up at the young Malfoy, it was evident that something wasn’t quite right, that something was amiss.

She tried to keep the fury she had felt all through dinner plastered on her face, in the stance of her body, the way her lip curled in distaste, but her heart started to thrum throughout her body as his words, the threat that lay within his voice, slithered their way into her head.

The feeling of his cool fingers on her face, forcing her to look up at him, knowing he could feel the erratic beating of her heart, sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine. The air surrounding the pair grew thick with the power that radiated between the two, like electricity skittering along her flesh. Was he meaning to show how powerful he was?

Fear ran an icy tendril along her neck as Draco looked at her lips, lingering too long, a small smile turning his downward sneer upward. She was trapped, and for the first time in her life, she actually felt true fear as the boy in front of her slid his eyes upwards, glinting silver under the flickering candles of the dorm they shared.

In an instant, Draco turned away, his back facing her as he looked over his left shoulder, his words calm as he spoke. Hermione had turned at the same instant, trying to calm her erratic heart, her lip quivering from the adrenaline and fear and hatred she felt coursing through her.

The loud slamming of his door made her scramble into her bedroom, her heart beating so fast she could feel it in her throat.

Hermione had never felt fear like that before. There was no reason to feel like that, but none the less, warning bells had started sounding as soon as Draco had trapped her within his grasp. His eyes had seemed so distant, so shuttered. It was almost as if she had been staring into his soul, yet there was nothing there.

A violent convulsion wracked her body as the young witch ran to her bathroom, vomiting into the toilet as the tension that had been building over the last few hours finally came to a peak. A cold sweat had broken across her brow as she slowly sunk to the bathroom floor, head resting against her arm on the toilet bowl.

Maybe, when she woke up tomorrow, she’ll still be at home and this will all be nothing but a dream. But she knew that wouldn’t be the case. She would have to put her overactive thoughts to rest, let her mind calm down.

These nerves were undoubtedly due to the fact that she had to work with someone who had antagonised her for years. Perhaps tomorrow will be better. Perhaps the two of them could sit down and have a civil conversation about what they hoped to gain from this year and from each-other.

Tomorrow was a fresh day, a fresh start. Hermione would be damned if she didn’t at least try to get along with the man who was going to be living with her for the next two years. They might even grow to be acquaintances, who knew?

The years of hatred that had brewed between the pair certainly didn’t help their situation, but Dumbledore wouldn’t have put two people together if he thought there would be trouble. Perhaps he knew the future, perhaps he saw Malfoy become a decent hum being, saw them eventually get along.

Wiping away the remnants of the vomit from her mouth with her robes sleeve, Hermione undressed, placing her clothes in the hamper that stood by the sink. Hopefully, a warm shower will release the rest of her stress. It had been a long day and her nerves were fried. The way she had been feeling before was childish, irrational. The young witch needed to sleep away todays events and wake up, prepared to put past grievances behind her to make this partnership work.


	5. Potions and Books

The first week back at school was exactly as Draco had imagined it to be. He knew his physical appearance had changed drastically over the summer, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one. Longbottom had filled out, no longer looking like the overplump boy that had waddled the corridors for years beforehand. The way that the girls of the school looked at him with stars in their eyes, the way they used to look at him, sent a nauseating twist through his stomach.

The young Malfoy never thought he’d have to compete for vying female attentions, especially since he came from a pristine family with incredible power and unforgettable looks. But seeing how heads turned for the dark-haired man, especially Hermione, Draco’s blood seemed to simmer just underneath the surface. 

The morning after Hermione had struck him, Draco was surprised to find her up and already dressed, two cups of tea steaming on the wooden table of the common room. She looked nervous, perhaps she was ashamed of what transpired between them the night before. Draco had made sure to sit down delicately, his posture rigid as the Mudblood had started to speak. She had offered a sort of peace between the two of them as they worked together over the coming years, making sure that there was no mention of the previous nights’ events.

That was fine with him. If she wanted to forget what had happened, that was perfect. After he had finished himself off after their altercation, looking at his reflection was too much, the shame of having found her attractive enough to find sexual release from the mere thought of her was enough to make him want to punch something, someone. 

That morning, in the Great Hall, Draco made sure to sit so that the Gryffindor table was in full view, so that the Mudblood was in full view. The way her eyes shined so bright at the greeting Potter gave her, a chaste kiss on her lips that seemed to increase the unease that had nested deep within him, almost caused the young Malfoy to storm out of the dining area. 

Unfortunately for Pansy, she had caught Draco’s foul temper during a free period during Wednesdays schooling. He had never seen a girl shrink so much just from a few snapped words. It wasn’t as if he had raised his voice at her, or hit her, but the words that had been uttered were ones that he could not take back.

Now looking across the dungeon class room, their new Potions teacher, a fat, balding man with a walrus moustache, writing his name on the chalkboard behind him, Draco found his eyes drifting throughout, focusing on each student as they paid attention to what was being taught. They were all so mundane, so boring, and meek. Each one had dull eyes, bored already from the years learning materials.

But then there was always Granger, so alert, ready to absorb all knowledge that was thrown her way, compartmentalising each thing, ready to bring it back up when the time was needed. Her eyes always shone the brightest in each class that they shared, her interaction with the class and teacher almost as contagious as her laugh.

Shaking his head at the turn his thoughts had taken, the Draco turned his attention back to Professor Slughorn, his eyes spying the golden vial that sat on his desk. 

Felix Felicis.

_That would be very useful to me this year._

And as the Professor droned on about the properties and its uses the young Malfoy’s eyes glinted at the possibility of having a potion of luck help him with this deed that The Dark Lord had given to him. Without a doubt, having that potion would pretty much take any risk on the chosen night and turn it to zero.

Looking around the classroom, Draco was pleased to see that Potter wasn’t there along with his bumbling idiot of a friend Weasley. The last thing he needed was the pair getting in his way as they were bound to do. Luckily, Potter had decided to go with Muggle studies, something that will soon be unrequired.

The sound of a bell chime laugh floated through the air, rolling over his skin as the delicate hairs that covered his arms stood to attention. Draco’s silver eyes slid lazily over to where she sat, Longbottom, a surprising addition to the class, smiling broadly at her outburst of joy to what he had said.

Heat simmered below his cool façade as the pair kept talking, setting to work on the task at hand, gathering ingredients from the storeroom and preparing them according to the class reading.

“Ahh shit,” a voice groaned from the next seat over, Blaise’s hand smacking his forehead in an almost comedic way. “I bought the wrong book. Do you mind if I have a look at yours Draco?”

The young Malfoy looked at his friend and shrugged, sliding the book with an almost too perfect carelessness. “Have at it man, it’s not like I’m going to be here long enough to use it, if all goes according to plan.” The other Slytherin looked at him with a knowing look, something like concern flitting in and out of focus before the young man turned toward the book that was placed in front of his seat.

“You know, it’s only the end of the first week, yet you’ve already broken up with Pansy. Not that I can blame you, she was a bit of a handful.” Blaise looked at Draco out of the corner of his eye, trying to gage a reaction, but all the silver haired boy did was shrug.

“She just grew boring.” Was all Draco said, eyes sliding back to where unruly curls sat bound atop a soft face.

“It looks like you don’t have a book young man,” An old voice grumbled from beside their desk, a looming shadow cast over their workplace. “Not to worry though, I’m sure there’s a few spares in the storage room.”

The Silver haired youth looked up at the balding professor and raised an eyebrow. There really was no point in arguing the matter, he needed to stay under the radar, to be productive in class so as not to draw attention to any extracurricular activity he did outside of his classroom and duties.

Standing up, briefly glimpsing down at the walrus looking man, Draco strode across the classroom, his long legs carrying him there in mere moments. He guessed he had grown far more than he had anticipated, he knew that all his old clothes hadn’t fit, his trousers riding far above his ankles, tailored suits tight and uncomfortable.

Looking inside the storeroom, to his great dismay, only one copy of the potion book they needed lay available on the shelf. It was a tattered, well used specimen with the cover peeling away and bent in a manner that allowed him to assume that it used to be in constant use. Picking it up, Draco was surprised that it did not crumble to pieces at his touch. It was sturdy and felt heavy with knowledge.

After finding his place back next to Blaise, Draco flicked through the contents, realising that its previous owner had written many a note in its margins, crossing out certain directions and replacing them with their own method as well as what seemed self-made spells.

_Levicorpus: Swish your wand upwards to dangle your enemy by their ankles mid-air._   
_Langlock: Just point your wand toward someone and cast the spell to lock their tongue to the roof of their mouth._   
_Muffliato: Point wand anywhere. A charm to fill the ears of any person in the vicinity of the caster with an unidentifiable buzzing sound so as to allow private conversations._   
_Sectumsempra: Move your wand in a slashing motion. Only to be used on enemies._

Draco’s eyes roved over each page, absorbing every letter of information that had been scrawled on the book’s dusty pages. Even though most of these spells had no formal name, or use from what he could tell, the young Malfoy could feel a sense of power radiating from each word as his silver eyes absorbed them.

A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he set to work, following the Half-Blood Prince’s instructions to the letter.

* * *

Hermione looked down at her potion, frustration evident on the young witch’s face. Even though she had followed the books instructions perfectly, the potion that now bubbled away in her cauldron was a dark grey instead of the midnight black that the book said it should be.

Neville, however, seemed to have given up somewhere along the way all together, his hair sticking out in all directions as his head rested on the desk in front of him, cauldron dissolved as the green, almost breathing, liquid tried to make its escape.

Slughorn saw the mess that had ensued and quickly and efficiently cleaned it up with a single wave of his wand. “No matter my boy, even Miss Granger here hasn’t got a perfect potion. It’s almost impossible, let alone improbable, for a class of sixth years to perfectly create such a complex thing.”

Slughorn’s word resonated deep within Hermione. It rubbed the young witch the wrong way. Never has a potion been so difficult to reproduce. She made a perfect Polyjuice potion when she was in her second year. She did not cope well with not being perfect.

Flicking back through the potion book that sat beside her cauldron, Hermione let her eyes scan through the instructions and ingredients, mentally ticking off every step and ingredient preparation as they surfaced. By all accounts, the potion sitting before her should be perfect, everything had been done to the letter.

Looking around at each of the students in her class, relief seemed to course through her body as she realised that everyone looked as disheartened as she felt. Mind you, she doubted that anyone else came as close to a perfect draught as she did.

“My word,” Slughorn voiced. It almost sounded as if he were in awe. “This is a perfect recreation. I have never seen a student do so well with this particular potion before. Well done my boy.” She knew, before even trying to locate the source of praise, who exactly had surpassed her. He had practically warned her on the train that this was going to happen, and now it was.

Ice seemed to slither down her spine as honey brown eyes locked with cold, silver ones. Draco seemed to be gloating, with only her as his witness. _Look what happens when you antagonise me Granger_. The young witch could practically hear him saying it, the sound of his voice in her head, imaginary or not, revolted her.

Hermione knew that if this was the start of a new page, a new chapter in school, then she would have to try her hardest to keep the peace. But that didn’t mean she would roll over and let Draco take control of her grades.

“It’s just one potion Hermione,” A soft voice sounded from the next seat over. “You had to know he was intelligent from the fact he was named Head Boy, plus a bit of healthy competition might actually be a bit fun for you.”

Hermione knew that Neville meant well, but she couldn’t shake the underlying feeling that this year was going to be something different all together. Draco was even more dangerous now that he had Liquid Luck on his side as well.

She didn’t wait until the end of class to see the young Malfoy receive his prize or endure any more of his gloating that seemed directed toward her. No. She had to leave before she caused a scene, accused him of cheating or something else as equally idiotic.

Hermione might be hot headed at times, but she was also someone who held on tightly to her temper. 

“Hermione!” a new voice called out as the young witch marched down the dungeon corridors. “Hermione wait up!” a broad hand clamped down on her shoulder, almost painfully, so she turned, with a fire in her eyes to see who had chased her down with such fervour. Cormac McLaggen, a seventh year who rarely ever had any interaction with her during previous years, but seemed to now trail her like a lost puppy due to the fact Harry was Quidditch Captain, lifted his hand from her shoulder and smiled sheepishly.

“You’re a little heavy-handed Cormac,” The young witch smiled politely, her voice soft. “I’m not exactly a tall girl, and you’re not exactly short.”

A nervous laugh escaped the senior Gryffindor as a big hand cupped the back of his neck in an almost bashful pose, although his eyes said he was anything but sorry. “Sorry Granger, I guess I don’t know my own strength sometimes, and I forget that you’re so small, what with that brain of yours always outshining everyone else.”

Hermione smiled up at the blonde boy, hoping that he would leave her alone soon. “Yes, well I have to make up for my short stature somehow, I’m almost the shortest student here, and that’s including the first years.”

The young witch didn’t miss the appraising look McLaggen gave her, or the small glint in his eye, but she’d had enough of being intimidated and surprised. She was ready to hex the next person to push her buttons, and if it be a senior student, so be it.

“I just wanted to see if you were going to Slughorn’s dinner on Saturday, I know you got an invitation, and so did Harry. If you wanted, we could stop by your Dorm to pick you up before heading there.”  
  
Hermione looked him over and supressed the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s very sweet Cormac, but I’ll be getting ready with Ginny at the tower. That way we can all go at once.” She didn’t wait for a reply as she turned away from him, raising a hand and waving it goodbye.

If Cormac really wanted to get in good with Harry, then buttering up his girlfriend was most definitely not the way to do it. If anything, he should have gone straight to Harry and talked with him. Hell, the quidditch trials are on Sunday, so now would be as good a time as any.

The young witch didn’t have to pay attention to where she was going, her body on autopilot as she navigated her way out of the dungeons and toward the upper levels. She had traipsed every possible route to the Library from every room in the school, if need be, she would be able to do it blindfolded or in complete darkness.

The smell of ancient books wafted through the open Library doors just a few feet down the corridor, calming her agitated mind. It was as if she were coming home to an old friend, someone that could calm even the most turbulent storms that raged in her mind. Being surround by familiar books, their contents a mystery until they poured their secrets out to her, letting their knowledge flow freely into her mind.

Walking through it for the first time since she had returned, Hermione let the stress and anger of the past weeks’ happenings melt away. The soft, warm light of the sun streaming in through the double story windows shone on dust motes that swirled in the air, dancing around each other as students hurried past, books piled in their arms. The sound of gentle whispers and hushed laughs filling the air set her soul afloat as she meandered through the library, the stack of books she had been carrying in her arms now floating alongside her. More books were added to the pile as she walked past shelves of untouched volumes. This was her refuge away from the world, a place to relax and erase the stresses of life, the stresses of grades and students, of classrooms, living situations and Head Boys.

Coming to a little alcove near the back of the library, hidden from sight by a pile of books stacked so high even Grawp wouldn't be seen behind it, Hermione nestled herself on the window seat, book in hand. Looking across the fields, and toward the Forbidden forest, the young witch closed her eyes and rested her head against the sun-warmed glass. 

Maybe this year was going to test her, test her resolve, her loyalties, and fears of losing, not just in grades, but her friends, family, her life. Harry had explained to them in great detail that this year he would be going with Dumbledore on special missions to find out where Voldemort’s horcrux‘s were, that it would be dangerous, beyond dangerous.

What was she going to do if he never came back? They had only just given in to their feelings for each other, colliding with all the force of an imploding sun. They had so much to life left to live, so much left to explore that the thought of losing him was something that crossed her mind frequently. The prophecy about Voldemort and Harry, about how none shall live while the other survives made her want to vomit.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a soft voice spoke, sending a thill of warmth though her body. Looking up into green eyes that had nothing but adoration for her, her brain, wit, fighting spirit, Hermione couldn’t control the sob that escaped her mouth.

The young witch hadn't meant to show him how sad she was, how overwhelmed she felt, even after just the first week. Hell, she had an entire two years left before school was behind her. But there was also the war that raged on around them, the innocent people being taken and vanishing. 

The strength and warmth of Harry’s arms as they pulled her closer to him was all the comfort she needed as her tears slowly subsided into a glassy eyed stare. He had a hand entwined in her curls as he rocked them both back and forth.

Leaning back and looking up at the boy she loved, Hermione offered up a small smile, placing a small hand on his golden face. The boy who lived didn’t need any more invitation than that, leaning down and gently pressing hesitant lips to hers, the young witch felt the rest of her tension melt away as the taste of him slowly enveloped her soul.

* * *

Draco hadn’t meant to stumble across such a private affair, it felt as if he were encroaching on something far too intimate for his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to stay until he heard the voice that seemed to control how his heart beat and his hands shook sounded from the next alcove over.

He had come here to escape the frivolities of his peers as well as to avoid the absolutely inescapable depressing presence of Pansy Parkinson. He didn’t want to see her eyes looking so forlorn or the way she caved in on herself whenever he was around. Even though he felt nothing for the young witch, he still didn’t want to see the pain he had caused someone he had once cared about. So when that melodious voice had cried out in despair, thick with emotion that he had never heard before, Draco had taken a quick peak around the corner of the bookcase that separated them. 

He hadn’t expected to see her in the arms of Potter, looking so small and delicate. Tear streaks decorated her face, glinting in the waning sun, and her hair shone a magnificent auburn in the last few rays of light. Her honey eyes were locked with emerald ones, green as the forest in spring, with a lightning bolt that decorated the space above them.

He knew what was going to happen, but morbid fascination seemed to have him rooted to the spot, his eyes glued on the pair as their lips gently locked together, Potters’ hand gently running through the silken curls as the object of his attention moved so that she was straddling him, hands placed delicately on his shoulders as she deepened the kiss.

The Library was so big that hardly anyone ever noticed if a couple snuck off to do some nefarious deeds, with alcoves and private seating scattered over two levels. Hell, even he had fucked Pansy in here more than a few times, but watching now, as Potter and Hermione let their passion out only through their lips, it felt far more intimate than anything he had ever done.

He hated it. He hated that she looked at him with malice and hatred in her eyes, yet all he wanted was for her to kiss him like that. To let his hands roam her face, run his fingers through her hair. He hated that Potter was the one to receive her passion in the most innocent of forms he knew. Not through sex, not through money or gifts, but through nothing but her kiss and her soul.

He hated it. Yet he wanted her to do the same for him as well in this very moment.

He wanted her to love him. And he wanted to possess her.


	6. Sweet Dreams

Hermione awoke covered in a thin film of cold sweat, her breathing laboured as the remnants of the dream slithered from her mind as sleep fell further and further from her body. The presence of broad hands scrambling over her body, forcing her to watch as Voldemort killed Harry over and over, each time getting more gruesome, more barbaric were like phantom limbs, refusing to completely dissipate. And after every death, the snake like man would glide over and smile, branding her with his mark.

At first it had been fast, a simple killing curse, a flash of green light, and a lifeless Harry that lay crumpled before Hermione. But then it started off with the cruciatus curse, is screams and her own mingling together to create a haunting sound that still resonated within her sleep addled mind. Then the wands were foregone altogether, replaced with whips, knives, scalpels, scalding hot coals, boiling water. She was surprised she hadn’t vomited after her eyes had finally opened.

Looking over at the clock on her bedside table, the young witch groaned in dismay. It was only two in the morning, yet she was wide awake, ready to start the day, to go to the Gryffindor common room and spend time with friends. But it was far too early to even think about doing such a thing.

With a mighty sigh, the bright-eyed witch threw plush, red duvet covers off and wrapped herself in a simple lavender robe. She didn’t want to wake Malfoy - even though she held no love for him, she was not a complete asshole - so she made sure to put a silencing charm over his door before heading to their shared common room.

The candles that sat in their awnings on the wall flickered to life, dim enough to keep everything soothing but bright enough so that she could navigate this still alien space. Looking about it now, she saw that it had become more homely over the past week. Books that she had brought from home sat in one bookcase, alphabetical order by author, their covers worn but well loved. On the free shelves sat small pot plants, succulents, lavender, and jasmine. It was the closest thing to home that she could bare Malfoy seeing. The pictures of her family and friends all resided in her room, hung on the barren walls along with art projects she had undertaken over the holidays, trivial tasks that helped with the burden of what was to come. Not many people knew of her artistic hobby, of how just splashing bright colours on a canvas, sketching a scene or a face could be just as calming as reading a book. It was meaningless to her, but it also meant the world

The twin bookcase that stood sentry on the other side of the fireplace were adorned with books from Draco’s personal Library, some titles surprising her. Pride and Prejudice, Romeo and Juliet, Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights. Each title glistened in gold as she looked up at their covers, each one bound in a different coloured leather. She hadn’t pegged him as the romantic type, yet here sat some of the most renowned romance novels to have graced the earth. Sure, there were other titles, thriller, fiction and literary greats, but it was interesting to see this little insight to the Malfoy Heir.

A large table was placed off to the left of the room, with schoolbooks stacked high at either end, half scrawled assignments and research papers littering it in a shockingly organised mess. She was closest to the kitchenette, with an old teacup still sitting on the wooden bench from last night, her papers stacked neatly, dated with their day of completion.

Looking down at Draco’s neat scrawl, the young witch couldn’t help but read through what he had written down already, surprise radiating through her body as she took in the formulas and research that hadn’t even crossed her mind. 

He truly was incredibly intelligent.

Turning away from the young Malfoy’s studies, Hermione rolled her neck, stretching out the stiffness that had started to settle in, no doubt from her thrashing around, trying to escape the monster in her dreams. 

With trembling hands, Hermione filled the tea pot with water, tapping it once with her wand to make the water inside boil. Rummaging through the cupboards that adorned the walls, Hermione finally found where her tea collection had been squirrelled away. Brightly decorated boxes of different types of tea glistened at her, camomile, chai, English breakfast, green, earl grey and a bounty of others. The loose leaves she put in were a blend of lemon balm, lavender, jasmine blossoms and rose petals. The mix had always helped to sooth her overactive mind before bed, now should be no different.

As the young witch let the tea steep before pouring it into her cup, goosebumps rose all over her body, unease settling in. It felt a if she were being watched, observed, by something. She could feel her breathing getting more shallow as the feeling of unease rolled throughout her body.

Turning around to see if Malfoy had awoken, Hermione’s eyes scanned the common room, finding nothing out of the ordinary, the door leading to Draco’s room still firmly shut.

“Silly girl,” the young witch laughed, picking up her cup of tea, shaking away the feeling all the while trying to calm herself down. “Your mind is playing tricks on you. After those dreams it’s not surprising.”

The fireplace roared to life as she settled on the couch, her feet tucked underneath her, the silk nightgown she had on underneath resting comfortably on her thighs, the delicious warmth of the fire radiating over her body. Drinking deeply, Hermione soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep, the last of her tea swirling at the bottom of the cup.

The young witch hadn’t realised that morning had come until a sudden, sharp wrapping sounded on the portrait entrance. Looking around at the common room, Hermione flushed slightly when her eyes landed on the back of Draco Malfoy’s head bent over the wooden table, scrawling away on a piece of parchment. Looking down at herself, her flush deepened when she realised that her legs had become exposed from beneath the robe she wore.

“I can feel your eyes watching me, Granger,” He drawled, continuing his, what she presumed to be, homework. “You looked like you needed the rest, so I thought it best to leave you there. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed the circles that had started to appear.”

A little taken back by his blunt kindness, Hermione rose, wrapping her robe tightly around her body, making sure to cover up her legs, as she walked over to the sink, placing the empty teacups from beside the couch and the table inside it. She watched as it disappeared with a small pop, a small smile playing on her lips as she thought about the house elves in the kitchen.

The sharp knocking on the portrait door sounded again, Draco’s eyes sliding lazily up to meet hers. “Blaise isn’t due to be here until midday, so that can’t be for me.” The silver haired boy raised his eyebrows as the knocking persisted, simply stating that he was not going to move.

“Fine,” The bright-eyed witch huffed, making sure to give the young Malfoy a wide berth as she headed toward the door, head held high as her feet treaded lightly across the stone floor of the common room. “But just so you know, I didn’t invite anyone over either.” She snapped, throwing a look over her shoulder toward the young man.

Malfoy simply shrugged, his hair falling to cover his face as he resumed his studies as if that were the end of the conversation. Hermione bristled at the dismissal but couldn’t deny their guest any longer, the knocking persisting with every second that passed. 

Swinging the door open, Hermione looked around in surprise when the hallway appeared to be empty. Looking down the long stretch of corridor and seeing no sign of life, the young witch slowly backed into the dorm, concern creasing the delicate skin between her brows.

“Who was it, Granger?”

“There was no-one there,” She didn’t mean to sound so quiet. “I think someone was just playing a joke.”

Putting the quill down that he had been writing with, Malfoy sat up and turned around, pinning her with silver eyes that seemed to do nothing but absorb the light around them. The young witch noted that he himself had acquired some impressive dark circles around his eyes, yet all that seemed to do was give him a more rugged appearance. She had noticed how girls around the school had been fawning over him.

“Take a look for yourself if you don’t believe me.” Was all she said, before turning on her heal and heading back to her rooms.

Not a moment later, the silver haired boy knocked on her bedroom door. She didn’t have time to entertain his attitude today, so whatever he had to say could wait.

A second knock sounded, followed by a tired voice. “There was a parcel addressed to you by the door. I guess you didn’t bother looking down when you opened it up.”

Hermione heaved a sigh as she hauled herself over to her door, opening it just enough so that she could poke her head and arm through to grab the parcel from him. “Thank you for bringing it in Draco.”

“Don’t expect this to become a habit Granger, if anything, you should be the one picking up my mail.” 

The young witch could feel her eyes rolling into the back of her head from how infuriating he was. “Just because mummy and daddy spoil you rotten, that doesn’t mean you get to boss me around like one of your servants. I am equal to you here, so get your head out of your ass.”

Draco looked down at her and sneered, disgust written all over his face. “You will never be equal to me, Mudblood. I am better than you in every way.”

* * *

Draco had watched from beneath Potters’ cloak as the young witch entered the common room instinct kicking in to hide himself from her gaze. Even though he had as much right to be there as she, it still felt like the right thing to do. The last thing Draco needed was her scrutinizing gaze landing on him. A little bit of surprise resonated within him though when she cast that silencing charm on his door. A small gesture, but rather sweet of her.

His silver eyes trailed the girl as she walked through the dimly lit room, gliding over her appearance, the robe she wore, the bare feet that seemed to stick to the stone floors, the sweat that glistened on her face and neck from what he assumed was a rather unpleasant dream and the way her spiralling honey eyes seemed to scan the darkness of the common room, flitting to every dark corner, as if she expected someone to be there. Her hair was a mess of curls and fly away strands, and upon closer scrutinization, there seemed to be dark circles from what he could only assume was a lack of sleep. Surely they hadn’t just popped up, how had he not noticed that sleep had been evading her as well.

A new emotion seemed to fill the young man’s chest as the witch before him looked directly to where he was standing before turning her attention to the bookcases that stood sentry next to the fireplace. Curiosity blossomed across her face as she took in the titles that were lined on the shelves, heat slowly creeping its way over the young Malfoys face. The books that were there had captivated him as a child, and they were classics. It would be a sin not to have them in ones own private collection. 

A soft smile graced the lips of the young woman before she turned toward their small kitchenette, her movements sluggish, the opposite of what she was normally like. It was almost jarring to see her so unnaturally dishevelled, but he supposed not even the mighty Granger would be able to be prompt and ready immediately after waking from whatever terror had chased away her sleep. He watched as she made herself a cup of tea from his spot in the corner and headed toward the couch, falling asleep after only a few mouthfuls of tea and as soon as her curly head hit the pillow.

He stood there, watching her for a little while, the way her lips parted and her chest rose and fell with each breath that filled her lungs. Strands of hair fell across her gentle features, the curls dark against the pale skin that had no blemish or mark apart from a soft smattering of freckles across her cheeks and nose.

With the cloak now returned to the bottom of his trunk, Draco looked down at her sleeping form. Malfoy couldn’t help his wandering hands from running through her hair as she slept deeply thanks to the tea he had modified. It was soft to the touch, softer than he had anticipated. It sent the nerves in his fingers into overload, the craving to bury his face in those unruly curls overwhelming.

Crouching in front of Hermione’s sleeping body, the young Malfoy lifted a fist full of hair to his face, inhaling deeply the scent that had become so familiar to him. A small groan escaped his mouth as it wafted through his body, stoking embers he thought had long since dwindled into nothing.

He felt his blood ignite and soul sing. As his silver eyes slid across her body, at the robe that covered her, lips that were slightly parted, chest that rose and fell with every breath that she took. It was as if she were gifting herself to him, gifting her body. The look of innocence on her face, the dark crescents on her cheeks where her eyelashes rested, it was all for him.

Carefully, the silver haired youth rested a broad hand on her hip, testing the depth of her sleep, the performance of his improvised sleep draught. Not once did she stir as he slid his hand along her thigh, not as he parted her lavender robe, or as he stroked the smooth skin on her legs.

Electricity shot through each fingertip as his skin made contact with hers, as his hand caressed her thighs while the other ran a finger along her jawline. A small whimper escaped her mouth as Draco ventured further up, causing his heart to sputter and his roaming to freeze momentarily. But the witch did not wake from her sleep, barely even moved.

Letting loose a breath he had not realised that he had been holding, Draco continued his ministrations on the sleeping witch. His hand roamed around the back, cupping her ass firmly, surprise and delight filling him as he found no underwear being worn, as the other slid underneath her shoulders, forcing her to roll onto her back, her head lolling to the side.

Draco had never expected his night to come to this, was more than ready for it to take at least a couple of weeks before she had used her sleep tea, but what luck. Here she was, completely oblivious to her surroundings, probably dreaming of stupid things such as Potter and Weasley, maybe even homework. No matter, she was his for tonight.

In one swift movement, the silver-haired youth was straddling the sleeping witch, her chest rising and falling with every breath she took, never faltering. It had only been a week since they had arrived back at school, yet it was as if she had cast a spell on him, making her the only thing that really mattered. Hopefully, after tonight, he would be able to focus on his task and school rather that the bitch that lay oblivious to the world beneath him.

He hated her so much for making him feel like this. Despised her. Who the fuck did she think she was, filthy Mudblood, parading about like she was better than him.

Yet, she felt so small beneath him, so fragile and meek. Of course he knew that those were the farthest thing from the truth, they were not what she was. And that was exactly why he craved her, desired her, needed her.

Without hesitation, the silver haired boy pressed his mouth lightly to hers, let his tongue roam along her lips, his left hand grabbing her jaw, steadily applying pressure to it, forcing her to open her mouth to allow him to taste her, to explore freely. Quiet whimpers rose from her throat as the pressure he applied got stronger, her mouth opening wider to alleviate the pain that was surely building up. 

Draco couldn’t stop the triumphant smile from spreading across his face, or the moan of ecstasy that escaped him as he tasted her. He could feel heat flow through his body, heating him up as he released her face, a hand snaking to the back of her head while the other explored the rest of her body. His breathing was ragged as he grabbed her breasts, his mouth almost crushing hers with the force of his kiss.

He was not gentle, he knew this, but for some reason he could not stop himself, could not bring himself to be anything but rough with the drugged woman beneath him. He wanted to hurt her, to hear that delectable whimper that she seemed to do whenever he found a new place to explore, hear her beg and cry out. He knew he’d have to heal her before she woke up, the last thing he needed was for the witch beneath him to wake up with swollen lips and a bruised body causing alarm bells to sound in her mind.

But for now, while she was beneath him, dead to the world, he could do whatever he wanted.

The young Malfoy took his time with the witch beneath him, bringing her nightgown up to her chest, exposing her naked body, the nipples that had stiffened upon exposure to the night time air, breasts that heaved with every breath she took, the little landing strip that graced her otherwise smooth pussy. Sitting back, his grey eyes devoured ever inch, every dip and curve, every detail of the woman who had captured his attention.

Stunning. Absolutely, irrefutably, stunning.

He could feel the strain of his cock against his pyjama bottoms, feel the need to fuck her senselessly starting to overcome him. Slowly, he started to grind on her, bending over so that his mouth clamped down harshly on the naked witch’s nipple, delighting in the sleep driven protest that sounded from her mouth, her pathetic attempts at dislodging her assailant while still deep in sleep.

The young Malfoy felt himself stiffen completely, his left hand wondering south, exploring what he so craved to claim. His fingers hovered just above her slit, feeling the heat that radiated from her. He wanted to know how to make her squirm, make her beg and cry out and moan and cum over and over again. He wanted to learn how to make her legs tremble and her head lean back, chest heaving from the pure bliss that careened through her entire being.

Her hair was fanned out on the couch pillow beneath her, almost black in the fires glow. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, for her to be naked, him on top, practically inhaling her scent like she was a drug on which he depended. Yet, here he was, his eyes devouring every inch of her that was exposed, tasting her mouth, neck, nipples. The young Malfoy revelled in the whimpers that escaped her, moaning himself with the thrill that coursed through his body at the sound.

Draco craved to see her in anguish, to see the crease between her eyebrows as they furrowed in fear and despair at what he was doing to her, to see the despair as he fucked her brutally, whether she wanted him to or not. He wanted her now, violently, aggressively. He wanted to hurt her, to be the one that she feared, the one that she fought, clawed at, dug her nails into as he rammed into her over and over again. No magic, no bindings, no drugs or potions, nothing but his body to punish her. His fists finding the soft, delicate spots that he knew would bring out unbearable pain, his teeth biting down on her soft flesh as she screamed and begged for him to stop, her feeble form fighting against him. He wanted to feel her nails drag across his skin, splitting it open, wanted to bleed on her as he made her suffer.

But she was drugged, much to his dismay, which meant that, even though she was his, was ready for him to take, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. He craved the hunt, the domination and humiliation, the pain and fear that would surely cloud her eyes. He wanted her to fight back, not be a puppet, not a drugged-up doll.

Heaving a great sigh, Draco crawled off her, feeling his cock empty inside his pyjama bottoms, its warmth and stickiness making him feel nauseous. Looking down at the naked girl, he saw that her lips were swollen, and her breasts were bruised. He had gotten carried away in his moment of ecstasy. It was an easy enough fix, but he needed to save all the aggression and power he felt for when she was finally awake. For now, when she was oblivious to the world, he would stick to just holding her, try to be less aggressive, less possessive.

Draco grabbed his wand from his bedroom and mended the damage he had done to her. Watching her lips return to normal and the bruises that had already started to form on her skin slowly vanish almost made him feel sad. There would be no souvenir for her to know what had happened tonight.

Rubbing his eyes to will away the powerful urges that were trying to consume him, Draco covered Hermione back up and sauntered off into his bathroom, discarding his pants before quickly washing off. Homework ought to distract him from the unconscious woman lying on the couch, he needed something mind numbing yet easy. 

The young man didn’t register the rising of the sun or the sudden warmth that spread across his body as night turned into day. No, what notified him of the days beginning was heat that spread throughout his body as a pair of honey coloured eyes bore into the back of his head.

He couldn’t contain the thrill that rushed through his body, at the memories of his escapades the night before. It seemed as though it had been a dream, something that had been too good to be true, but running his tongue along his lower lip, he could still taste her mouth.

The warmth of her eyes, the rush of adrenaline that shot through his body, was undeniable. He wanted more, needed more. He couldn’t deny that he was addicted to her very presence.

_ What the fuck is wrong with you Draco! _

Shock rocked the young Malfoy as his fathers’ voice sneered in is mind. It was as clear and cold as the last time he had been scolded by the man. 

Shaking his head at the intrusion, Draco used his lack of sleep as the reason behind the unnerving voice in his head. True, his father would not approve of his new infatuation, and he was a powerful wizard, but there was no way that he could have projected himself inside of his mind.

Irritation spiked in his veins as he realised how foolish he was being. “I can feel your eyes on me Granger,” he drawled, surprised that his voice came out steady. “You looked like you needed the rest, so I thought it best to leave you there. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed the circles that had started to appear.”

The sound of light footfalls on the stone floor was the only indication of the witch’s movements. She came into view, hair tousled from the night’s happenings, eyes more alert than what they had been. It seemed that the tea he had altered had allowed her to sleep deeply enough to recover some and not just let him play to his heart’s content.

The young wizards eyes watched as the bushy haired woman placed her cups in the sink, trailing up and down her body, a small smile dancing at the edges of his mouth. She has no idea about what transpired last night, about how much control he had, how he restrained himself because he respected her.

Looking down at his homework, Draco felt nothing but pure bliss.

Knock. Knock. Knock

Annoyance blossomed in his chest. Liting his gaze to lock with hers, he simply stated “Blaise isn’t due to be here until midday, so that can’t be for me.” When the knocking persisted and the Mudblood made no move to open it, he raised his eyebrows. _I’m not moving._

Apparently, there was no-one there and so she left. He doubted that very much, no-one can pull pranks on them due to the enchantments that were placed on their door. It was virtually impossible to knock and run.

Rising from his seat, Draco opened the portrait door and looked down. Of course, with all those brains she hadn’t looked at the floor, the idiot.

Crouching down to pick up the parcel, anger seemed to flutter inside his chest as the parcel that sat there had her name scrawled in bold. Who was leaving her gifts? Why were they leaving her gifts? Who the fuck thought they had the right to leave her gifts.

The silver haired youth growled in irritation, striding over to Head Girls room and knocking once. It didn’t take long for her to open the door.

“Don’t expect this to become a habit Granger, if anything, you should be the one picking up my mail.” 

Bright splashes of colour caught his attention before she closed the door slightly behind her. “Just because mummy and daddy spoil you rotten, that doesn’t mean you get to boss me around like one of your servants. I am equal to you here, so get your head out of your ass.”

He couldn’t help the sneer that graced his face. In his excitement and lust last night, he had forgotten how much he had hated her, how far beneath him she was. The way she rolled her eyes at him just made him want to hit her, hurt her, show her where she truly belonged “You will never be equal to me, Mudblood. I am better than you in every way.”


	7. The Slug Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love and support guys. I never thought my little fanfic would be so well received. It honestly means the world to me!!

Sitting on the couch that faced the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room felt like the most natural thing in the world. Warmth radiated upwards from her toes, spreading throughout her body, shaking the cold that had somehow found root in her chest loose, freeing her lungs, allowing them to finally expand with fresh air.

A gentle hand rested lightly on her thigh, the thumb rubbing soothing circles idly as if it were second nature. Round and round it moved, almost hypnotically, as its owner smiled and talked animatedly with a red headed boy, dark freckles stark against his skin. A young, equally red headed and freckled woman sat on the floor in front of the two, writing out homework as a dark man with bright eyes and a gentle demeanour sat beside her, idly playing with her fiery locks, his fingers curling red hair around between them.

Voices surrounded and filled the empty air, a stark contrast to the quietness and almost hostility of the Head Boys and Girls Dorm. Laughter and cheers, moans of confusion and a helpful whisper all flitted about the well-loved room. Younger students ran about, excitement clear and palpable as they chased one another throughout the room, ducking and weaving between the older students who laughed and joked with one another.

An almost airy voice flitted through the air, soothing yet fierce all in one. White hair shone brightly in the afternoon light that dribbled through the large windows, setting her hair alight in the most beautiful way. With blue eyes that captured everything that happened and a soft voice that held the wisdom of generations of witches and wizards, she captivated everyone. Hands gesturing wildly as the description of some beast formed a picture in everyone’s mind, the young man beside her was enthralled, hanging on to every word that floated from her mouth. The pair never broke their eye contact as the conversation floated above the noise surrounding them, his blonde hair shining almost as brightly as his counterparts, brown eyes glowing with adoration for the young woman speaking.

Looking about at the group of mismatched people before her, the people that she held closest to her heart, loved with all her might, Hermione leaned into the warmth and security of Harry’s body, letting herself relax. Tension had nestled into the young witch’s soul, ingrained so deeply that in just a week, Hermione had forgotten what it was like to be young and carefree. That was until her feet had stepped into what was once her common room, what she still considered to be her common room.

The warmth of Harry’s hand disappeared, only for his arm to wrap around her waist, slowly pulling her closer to him. Opening her eyes and looking up at the man she adored, she watched as he leaned back, pulling her with him, a twinkle setting his green eyes ablaze and a slight smile that made her heart flutter like a butterfly. Pivoting in her spot, Hermione draped both of her legs over Harry’s, relishing in the security his presence offered, succumbing to the happiness that had become something of a stranger to her over the past week. She leaned heavily against him, allowing herself to relax, inhale the smell of earth and wind that seemed to cling to the Boy Who Lived. She felt his hand resting in her lap, slowly interlocking their fingers, her thumb now stroking his knuckles in quiet adoration.

During their stay at the Burrow, the pair would often take long afternoon strolls through the pastures and fields that surrounded the Weasley homestead. The wild grass that reached her hips would sway in the summers breeze and its brown colour would often blaze to life as the sun set behind the hills and trees in the distance.

Those small escapes, from the family that had taken them in during their first year at Hogwarts, from prying eyes and knowing smiles, were some of her favourite memories. Hand in hand, they would walk for hours, talking about everything and nothing all at once, laughing and joking, whispering sweet nothings under the witness of the sun and moon as they sat amongst the wilting grass and wildflowers.

They had waited so long, for years, toeing the line between friendship and something more, seeing how the other responded to an innocent compliment or a seemingly normal touch. Smiles and laughter would often be shared between them, Ron watching with eyes that saw past their façade, saw through to exactly what was blossoming between the pair. Throughout the last year, those touches and whispers had changed from playful bashfulness to heart stammering professions of adoration and love. Each time Harry had turned his gaze upon her, the young witch had felt her heart splutter inside and a hot flush creep across her face.

She knew exactly when she had fallen for him, with all his bravado and wit, it was when they were studying in the library, quiet and content with just each-others presence. Hermione had looked up at the messy hair and tan skin, the setting sun shining its warm rays through the decorated windows, making his dark locks flame to life, the dust motes swirling in the air and the idle chatter of students a few tables away a soothing background noise to their quiet bubble. They had sat so close to one another, yet neither of them had made a move to touch the other. She had felt the electricity between them, the small zaps of power as her magic mingled with his, entwining and dancing as their connection grew stronger with every passing second.

It hadn’t taken long after that day for them to come clashing together with the full force of the ocean, colliding in a supernova of passion and undiluted feelings. They had told each other many times before that they loved the other, as family and as friends. But the first time she heard it from Harry’s mouth, while she cradled him in her arms after Voldemort had vanished and he lay on the ground with bruises and scrapes covering his face and body, she had cried.

It was as if time had slowed when the barrier that had kept them separated finally fell in the Ministry of Magic. The young witch hadn’t waited for the others to move, didn’t wait for them to surround, and block him from her view. No. She had run as fast as she was able, falling to her knees next to his exhausted form, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she pulled him to her, tears falling endlessly from her face as she pressed her lips against his, stroking his hair and uttering nonsense comforts. She told him over and over that she had him, that she was there and that he was alright, that she would fight anyone who tried to hurt him again, would kill them if she had too.

_“I love you Hermione,”_

Those were the first words he said to her, his face buried against her neck as his sturdy arms had wrapped around her waist, holding onto her as if she were the only thing tethering him to this world. He had sounded so broken, so scared, and she cried for what had been done to him, for who he had lost, what she promised would never happen again.

Looking up at the mess of hair and stormy green eyes, Hermione felt safe and at peace with her lot in the world, content just to sit here for the rest of her life if it meant that she could stay by his side.

As if he could feel her gaze, Harry turned and looked down at the witch who he held against him, eyes alight with the talk of quidditch and the trials tomorrow. “Are you going to come and watch Ron at tomorrows try outs?”

The young witch pondered the question, eyes passing to the freckled boy on Harry’s other side. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

The Weasley boy beamed at her, teeth flashing in his excitement. “I have a good feeling about the try outs tomorrow you know. I know McLaggen is trying out for Keeper as well, but something in my bones tells me I’ll do really well!”

“Of course you will Ron,” Luna sighed, hands clasped loosely in her lap, whimsical eyes pinning the hopeful seeker to his spot. “I’m not a Gryffindor but I have a strong feeling that the team would do atrociously without you. With the twins now out of school and your sister claiming Harry’s right hand, it would be unlucky to not have you in there.”

Ginny nodded her head in agreement, wincing when her hair snagged in Deans fingers, an irritated glint in her eyes as she turned to face the young man.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He laughed, raising his hands in defence as the red headed girl leapt at him, tackling them both to the floor.

The group erupted in laughter as the two wrestled with each-other, Ginny raining victorious as she sat on his back, a triumphant grin splitting her lovely face as the young man beneath her let out a defeated sigh, the situation obviously something very familiar to him.

The rumble of Harry’s laughter vibrated through his chest. It was a comfort to the young witch, knowing that the happenings of last year, even though horrendous, hadn’t dampened his spirit.

“Hey guys,” Hermione knew that voce, irritation already spiking in her mind before she even turned to see his face. “Are you about ready to head to the dinner?”

Dean looked up at Ron’s competition and grimaced, obviously having forgotten that Ginny was part of the Slug Club. Looking around at the rest of the group, apparently so had most of the other members of said club as well.

“Absolutely McLaggen, we’ve just been passing the time until it was time for us to leave.” Harry said, his demeanour pleasant and friendly.

Looking down at her watch, Hermione sighed. It was truly time for them to leave, fortunately they were all ready. Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Neville. McLaggen as well unfortunately.

It was well known by now that Slughorn loved “collecting” students into what he called “The Slug Club”. Students with notable parents and relatives as well as students with a natural talent with magic and classes. It was no surprise that Harry made it, nor Ginny with her quidditch and skill with hex’s, or Neville with his parents and love of herbology. This also included Blaise Zabini for his beautiful mother and extraordinary inheritance, Cormac McLaggen with his relation to his uncle within the Ministry of Magic, Flora and Hestia Carrow, Melinda Bobbin and Marcus Belby.

With great effort that the entire room felt, the group got to their feet, Luna swaying from side to side as Neville interlocked their fingers.

Dean and Ron stayed firmly planted on the sofa and floor, each waving goodbye as their friends departed from the Common room, delving back into quidditch talk. The Slug Club members each took their time stepping out of the doorway, the Fat Lady snoring quietly as they passed her.

“Harry,” McLaggen said, his eyes passing over Hermione, the same glint from yesterday shining in his eyes briefly before they moved on to Harry. “Do you have any tips for making the team? Or any techniques that I should know about?”

The young witch decided to hang back, leaving the boys to talk and to get away from the older student that made her uneasy, preferring to walk with Ginny, Neville and Luna, and listen to their chatter about classes.

By the time the group had reached the dungeons, Harry was back to walking beside Hermione, his hand sturdy and comforting in hers. Luna had gone back to her dorm, waving goodbye and telling everyone to enjoy themselves with a soft voice.

McLaggen had lagged behind, seeming to be lost in thought. Although he did and said nothing to Hermione on their walk down, ice seemed to trickle down her back with him walking behind them, a deep sense of unease nestling within her.

“Welcome, Welcome,” Slughorn boomed as they arrived at their destination at last, his walrus moustache waxed into perfection, his mustard suit freshly pressed. “Please, take a seat anywhere, dinner will be served shortly.”

Looking about at the table, a small shock ran through her as grey eyes seemed to shine from across the room. A cruel mouth tilted upwards as the lean young man it belonged too took a seat at the opposite end of the table. His attention barely settled on her before they slid across the rest of the guests, boredom steadily spreading across his face. Blaise seemed to be the only one who was even worth talking too. Good.

Hermione sat down. Harry on one side, McLaggen, to her great dismay, on the other.

* * *

Before Blaise had arrived, the young Malfoy had paced his common room, constantly running his hands through his hair, his father’s voice bouncing around his mind like a fly trapped in a glass.

_You should be ashamed. Lowering yourself to the level of filthy MudBloods._

_“_ I know father, I’m sorry.”

_Don’t apologise to me, you’re the one who sullied yourself._

“You’re right, as always. But I cannot-“

_Cannot what? Control yourself? She is beneath you!_

“I think she’s cursed or hexed me Father.”

_She has done nothing of the sort. You’re just pathetic and weak._

Draco stopped his pacing, the voice in his head going silent. It was right of course. She was beneath him. How could he even contemplate sullying his family name like he was about to do last night?

Looking up, he found that he was standing in front of his bookshelf, looking at the muggle authors in his collection.

He should burn them. Rip them to shreds and toss each piece into the fireplace. He should watch as each page curled in on itself as it burned to a crisp, the story that the printed words told going up in smoke.

He couldn’t do it though.

Heading toward his bathroom, Draco could feel himself slowly delving into the parts of his mind he held under lock and key. The parts that terrified him, that held the madness that had consumed his aunt, turned her into a cold woman who did everything with the love she held for He Who Must Not be Named.

Looking up in the mirror, who saw the gleam that he feared watching him through his own eyes. His reflection seemed to be smiling at him, eyes sparkling with malice. His hair was unkempt, still scruffy from the night before and his endless fussing, but his reflection didn’t seem to notice or care much. It just continued to stare at him, curiosity blooming across its features as the young Malfoy splashed cold water over his face.

Looking back up at the mirror, his own reflection stared back, not the monster that lurked within. Sleep deprived eyes, the dark circles that surrounded them stark against his pale skin, looked weary, almost cautious of what they would see if they looked too hard at themselves. His hair was rough but quickly tamed into a low pony that had quite quickly become his favourite style. He let a strand of hair fall across his face, his mind quieting down, feeling more like himself with the more time that passed.

“Draco?” A cool voice called out, sounding from the common room. “Where are you man?”

“In the bathroom Blaise.”

Taking a step back from the bathroom sink, Draco scrutinised his appearance; the rumpled shirt that hung half out of his pants waistband, the crooked tie and the dishevelled jacket. With a wave of his wand, everything was in perfect order, immaculate down to the very cufflinks that adorned his jacket sleeves.

_Better._

Stepping out into the common room, closing his bedroom door behind him, Draco looked at his friend, the close shaved haircut and the almost black eyes that seemed to swallow light. His skin, a dark ebony, was flawless. The air around him seemed to demand respect, the look in his eyes calculating, cold and unimpressed with everything they focussed on.

“It seems you’ve made yourself at home.” The young wizard remarked, eyes sliding over his partners bookcase, interest lighting up his features. He took a few steps forward until he stood in front of Hermione’s bookcase, intrigue and humour changing his features into something quite lovely. “How’s the new housemate treating you. I can’t imagine it’s been easy.”

Draco let out a soft laugh, standing next to his closest friend. “It’s been quite surprising actually. An eye-opening experience if you may.” The young Malfoy lifted a slender hand, his complexion a stark contrast to his friends, and ran a single finger down the spine of a non-descript book on the shelf. “She’s stubborn, bossy, but incredibly intelligent. The patrols we go on at night are dull, but she does this thing where she hums to herself. I’m not sure if it’s something she realises she does or not.”

The shorter Slytherin turned to look at his friend, surprise plastered on his face. “now that is surprising. Could it be that Draco Malfoy has gone soft?”

“Hardly,” Draco looked at his friend and was surprised when he turned away, something like fear flashing in his eyes before returning back to their usual bored look. “I think I might just be growing accustomed to her presence is all.”

The two boys decided to wander the halls of Hogwarts together, discussing their parents and how their summers had been. It surprised him slightly to find that he had missed Blaise, missed the interaction of just being himself with someone who knew of the strain he had on him this year.

“Do you have a plan?” The black-eyed youth asked, biting down on a crisp, green apple, a dribble of juice slipping out the corner of his mouth, “And do you need any help?”

The pair sat underneath the shade of the willow trees down by the lake side, a blanket spread underneath them, lunch on plates before them as their backs rested against the tree’s trunk. Draco looked out across the lake, at the sun that glinted off the ripples caused by the Giant Squid venturing to close to the surface, the gentle breeze of Autumn starting to cool the air around them.

“I have a plan,” Draco sighed, tossing his apple core into the lake, eyes scanning the horizon in an almost thoughtful manner. “I need to figure out where the Weasley twins found the cupboard they shoved Montague in. I believe I found its sister in Borgin and Burkes. I believe if I can manage to find it and get it to work properly, that would be the way into the school without being detected.”

Blaise sat in silence for a bit, his mind working, going over the plan in every detail, ironing out the kinks. Draco knew this was what was happening, he had seen it happen before.

“I can’t find a fault in that plan at all.”

Perfect. All he needed now was to find the other cupboard and start what was inevitably a long and arduous road to fix it. But there were so many places that the cupboard could be, it might take him all year just to find it anyway.

The young Malfoy could feel his brow furrowing as his mind raced through all the cupboards and wardrobes he had come across during his schooling years. None of them even remotely matched the one sitting dormant in Borgin and Burkes.

Then it struck him, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Blaise, you know about the room of requirement. Have you heard about it being able to store items that no-one has any use for?”

His friend looked up at him, eyes alight with understanding and excitement in the new direction their day has taken. “We’ll need someone to stand guard while we have a bit of a look around, and don’t forget we have that dinner tonight as well, so we won’t be able to stay long.”

“Don’t worry about sentries, I have something far better for us to get there unnoticed and undisturbed.”

“Oh? Care to share this knowledge with me?”

“Later, I feel we’ll need a full day to explore that room and all its hidden treasures.” The silver haired youth drawled, eyes flicking up to the castle next to them. “I’d much rather enjoy my time in the remaining warmth of the year than inside, frantically searching for something that won’t be going anywhere. I have a feeling luck is on my side this year.”

Blaise raised a well-manicured eyebrow but didn’t pursue the matter any further. He had definitely inherited his mother’s beautiful looks, as well as her cunning mind, an unfortunate circumstance for anyone that fell into his clutches. “Alright then Draco, but you will tell me. I cannot help you if you leave me in the dark.”

“I know Blaise,” The young Malfoy mused, looking at his immaculately clean nails, brushing invisible dirt from his suit. “You’re my best friend, for me to succeed, for me to become the wizard I know I am capable of, to surpass even Voldemort, I’ll need you at my side.”

The two young men had spent the remainder of the day chatting, scheming, laughing and joking like any normal teenagers would. It felt nice for him to be able to relax a little, put his worries aside. But all too soon came the time for them to join the rest of the Slug Club in the dungeons, to eat and be interrogated, sit with the filth of the school that their new potions professor thought were worth his attention.

They had arrived before most of the other students, the fat, balding man waddling around, clasping their hands in greeting then moving on the next lot of arrivals. The two Slytherin men moved to the farthest wall from the door, continuing their discussion of Quidditch and politics, ignoring everyone else around them.

That was until his heart missed a beat and the smell of Lavender and Jasmine filled the room. With all his might, the youngest Malfoy let his eyes roam the room in an almost lazy fashion, making sure to keep his cool demeanour in place.

Honey eyes filled his vision, loose strands of curls tumbling down the side of her heart-shaped face, a majority kept in place with god knew what. She wore a simple dress, the colour of the midnight sky that paired beautifully with the gentle flush that graced her pale skin. Her lips were curved upward in a faint smile, shining in the candlelight as her lip-gloss shimmered.

In she walked, hand in hand with Potter, her mood and stance instantly changing, as if she felt his eyes on her, felt his appraisal. It was if the warmth that had radiated from her originally was replaced with a frigid coldness. Surely he wasn’t the only one that noticed.

Those lovely eyes he had dreamed about countless times pinned him in place for no more than a second, but it felt like an eternity.

Thankfully Blaise had said something to him, breaking her spell, allowing him to turn away and continue their conversation. Anger raged through him though, at the sight of Potter touching her, of them being so close, so sickeningly in love.

Sitting down at the large round table that occupied most of the room, Blaise to his right and Slughorn to his left, Malfoy made sure to only look at the Mudblood from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if she were in immense distress or discomfort. Her body was perched on the very edge of her seat, as far from McLaggen as was possible.

The young Malfoy couldn’t help his bristle of agitation as he watched Cormac look the young witch over with an approving eye, or the was he sat as close to her as his chair would allow. Draco could practically feel the challenge radiating of the blonde-haired fuck, his eyes locking with blue, at the sparkle of dominance, at the claim he was putting down.

Potter didn’t seem to notice, the fool, although his arm was draped over the back of the young witch’s chair, his hand the only barrier between the senior student and his prey.

So it seemed there was a third contender. One that he would be happy to make disappear if he over-stepped his boundaries.


	8. Reminiscent Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in updates guys. I was so incredibly sick this past week. I hope this chapter makes up for it.  
> Again, Thank you all so much for your support. It means the world to me <3

Draco had slipped into her rooms again last night, hidden beneath Potter’s invisibility cloak. He had watched her for hours, maintaining a safe distance between them, keeping his urges under lock and key, allowing only his eyes to devour the young woman as she slept deeply, bathed in the warm glow of the fire that was no more than a smouldering ember in its hearth.

Clad in a silk nightgown that clung to her body, showing the soft peaks of her breasts and the rise and fall of her steady breaths, she was a sight to behold. Soft, pink lips were slightly parted as she slept, her head turned toward the fire, toward him. It was almost as if she were inviting the young wizard to lay down beside her, to warm himself against her smooth skin.

It had been nearly impossible not to stare at the mesmerising witch before him during Slughorn’s dinner. Her laugh had filled the room, her presence and light almost impossible to ignore. What had surprised him was how uncomfortable McLaggen seemed to make her feel though, and it made his blood run cold, not out of fear for the woman, but with an anger that could freeze hell over.

The blond-haired boy seemed to do nothing but make quiet and pleasant conversation with the object of his desires, but his eyes seemed to devour her whole. Draco had seen that look so many times within his own eyes there was no doubt in his mind that the senior wizard wanted her just as badly as he himself did.

Unacceptable.

Looking down at the sleeping witch now, at the serenity that smoothed her features and the light sheen of sweat from the heavy duvet and fire that had filled the room with its warmth, Draco couldn’t help the longing that filled his heart. Not just for her touch, or to taste her mouth again, but to force her to submit, to bend to his every whim. 

He knew it was an impossible desire, or near impossible, but that was what made it even more delectable. The fear that would course through her veins, the pain and agony that would distort her beautiful features would be something the young Malfoy would relish in.

The sound of birds singing their morning chorus and the light that glowed around the edges of the closed curtains was the only indication of the passage of time. He hadn’t realised that he had stood there all night, sleep was the last thing on his mind, drowsiness a distant thought. All that mattered was the waking witch and how her body stretched, back arched, arms reaching far above her head. In a way, Draco was reminded of a sleeping cat, a predator trapped in a small and delicate form.

Grey eyes watched as Hermione pulled her mind from the dregs of sleep, rolling out of bed and heading toward the bathroom that was connected to her room. He followed on silent feet, the cloak concealing him completely as he watched the object of his obsession slip the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders, letting the silk fall to the floor with a soft hiss, pink waves of silk folding in on themselves as they landed in a heap around her feet.

A lump seemed to form in his throat as Draco took in the young witch’s naked form, as she stretched again, arms far above her head, head tilted back, rolling about her neck to release some of the drowsiness that still clung to her.

She was the most beautiful thing he had seen, with tousled hair and sleep addled eyes that only seemed to brighten the honey that swirled deep within them. Pale skin seemed to glow in the morning light, flawless, a true thing of beauty.

He made is exit as she stepped into the shower, refusing to allow himself the pleasure of watching her clean, knowing he would lose his self-control and claim her then and there.

Marching to his rooms, he dressed silently, splashing cool water over his face and letting his hair hang loosely just past his shoulders. He picked out a black suit and left before the young witch had even finished her morning ritual, needing the fresh air to clear his mind.

Today is the day that I find that Cabinet. Today is the day I officially put my plan into motion.

Marching through the school corridors, Draco smiled at the students he passed, offering help when stopped and asked, playing the role of Head Boy perfectly. All that passed him saw only a kind, young man, with hair that was sleek, shiny, with a face that belonged to a model. No-one noticed the cold that hardened his exterior, making him impervious to all those who smiled at him, apart from the Witch in his dorm. 

His long legs took him to the stretch of wall where he had last seen the Room of Requirement, his heart pounding within his chest at the memory.

~~

_Watching Professor Umbridge completely destroy the wall that separated the Room Of Requirement from the rest of the school was truly something to behold, but nothing compared to the look of absolute shock and horror on their faces when they realised that they had been found out._

_Draco could feel his heart bursting through his chest at the thrill of violence that promised to boil over, to come to fruition in the real world. He would not hesitate to hex or curse his fellow classmates into submission if push came to shove, after all, he held power over them all._

_Marching into the room that the so called “Dumbledores Army” had been using as a hideout was something he would never forget. The screams of the younger students combined with the yells of outrage of the older ones was a symphony to his ears._

_“Capture the ones in charge, bind the rest, they all need to be dealt with accordingly.”_

~~

Swallowing at the memory of his first true display of power, of the memory of defeat in his enemy’s eyes, Draco chewed on his lower lip to supress the smile that threatened to surface. 

That day had shown him that he truly was destined for greatness, even if it was a slow and arduous journey to get there. He had used his power, feeling it well up inside of him, against fellow student, hexing each one into submission, laughing as the youngest of the group cried in fear.

It was also the time the young Malfoy had truly realised how utterly phenomenal Granger was.

~~

_The air seemed to shimmer, heat and a bitter coldness encircled him and his squad as they did their job. Sweat trickled down his face as his grey eyes scanned the room for the source of this power, the source of this hatred._

_Liquid amber filled his vision as a lithe, small body stood its ground in front of a small, quivering child. Untameable curl that added a few inches to her height, glared up at him, her arms flung out as if to protect the terrified form behind her._

_“You will not Hex him.”_

_That voice seemed different, more powerful perhaps._

_Looking at the small woman, eyes gliding lazily along her figure, taking her all in, Draco frowned. It was as if he were seeing the Mudblood for the first time._

_“I swear to god Malfoy, I will break your nose again.”_

~~

Stepping through the heavy, wooden door that separated the Room of Requirement form the rest of the castle, Malfoy smiled to himself, realising that that was when he had first truly looked at the Witch he now desired.

If someone had told him last year that the Mudblood would be the only person to hold his interest, he probably would have hexed them… Twice.

Yet.

He wanted her very soul in the palm of his hands, wanted the truth of her bared to only him as the rest of the world looked on in fear at their power, at their cold exterior. He could picture the cold, cruel twist of her mouth as she stood above everyone, hair alive like fire, her words gentle, laced with hidden promises of death as flashes of green lit up her ever-swirling honey eyes.

Draco would make her do horrible things, would do the most inhumane things to her, just so he could rebuild her into his perfect woman.

Lifting grey eyes off the floor, thoughts racing a million miles an hour, a smile split his face in half. 

There it was. Right at the front. Loud and obnoxiously clear.

The Vanishing cabinets sister.

* * *

Slughorn’s dinner had seemed to drag on for far longer than just an hour or two. Hermione had practically sat on top of Harry in her attempts to stay out of McLaggens’s reach. Something about the young man set alarm bells peeling in her mind, the hairs along her arms standing to attention.

As soon as the dinner had finished and Slughorn had sent them back to their dorms, Hermione had practically jumped up from her seat and raced out of the room, nausea threatening to overcome her body. 

The night afterwards was uneventful, thankfully. Harry had walked her back to her dorm, questions shining behind his eyes, but none passed his lips. He knew that if she wanted to talk about it, she would say something. He was surprised when she said that she got an unsettling feeling from the young man beside her at dinner though.

Kissing the boy with the lightning scar goodnight and heading straight to her room, Hermione stripped completely naked as soon as her bedroom door closed and let out a groan of relief as her bra fell to the floor. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but that thing had to be the most uncomfortable one she owned, digging in and cutting off blood circulation if she ate too much.

Kicking the item across her bedroom floor and heading toward the attached bathroom, the young witch pulled out all the hidden clips from her head, the ache that had slowly started to build up during dinner now almost a roaring migraine. 

Turning the faucets over the bathtub on and massaging her head to relieve some of the built-up pain, the young witch looked herself over in the mirror. She had changed rather drastically over the summer, filling out where the others had already done so. She had worked hard at maintaining her lithe figure, running and training with a personal instructor who specialised in self-defence. Yet there was no denying that she had a rather flattering and curvy figure. The hair that had once been a bane to her existence seemed to have settled into a less violent curl. Less frizz haloed her head, the strands becoming sleek, yet still unmanageable, her want to go to a hairdresser to get it straightened almost overpowering.

Sighing deeply, Hermione turned the taps off and slowly slid into the deliciously warm water. Even though it wasn’t a big day for her tomorrow, she wanted to be there to cheer on her friends and see what the competition would be like. She sat in the tub until the water got cold, lost in thought about the day’s events and the unsettling feeling Cormac McLaggen gave off.

Sleep came fast to her that night, nestled between the sheets, the sound of the fireplace crackling quietly filling the emptiness that had been so frequently filled with other girls snoring. No dreams or nightmares filled the blackness from behind her eyes, no cold sweats made the sheets stick and tangle.

It was the first solid night’s sleep the young witch had been able to have since arriving back at the school, waking up, feeling refreshed and excited for what the day held. It was nice to feel these things again, it obviously being the aftereffects of spending the day with her friends. After getting dressed in light, summery dress, the sun shining brightly through her windows, Hermione finally emerged from her bedroom, ready to face whatever the day dealt her.

To the young woman’s immense satisfaction, Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, not at breakfast, or in the Head Dorms common room. She didn’t bother making him a cup of tea, or to order food up from the kitchen for him as she had done almost every day this week. There was no point in trying to be nice and hospitable considering he did not put the effort in himself.

Without the overpowering presence of Draco near her, Hermione felt happy, light and airy. This was what it was meant to feel like with her fellow Head Boy all the time, when they were doing patrols and studying in the common room. They were meant to laugh and have fun, joke with each-other and have the time of their lives. Instead there was only mistrust and hostility between the pair.

Sighing deeply, looking at the bright and inviting room around her, Hermione fidgeted with her hair before exiting the room. For some reason the young witch felt sad at the thought of her stolen happiness. Why was it that he had to be chosen, surely Dumbledore knew of their past grievances, the struggle to even be in the same room as one-another.

Lost in thought, the young witch travelled the school halls, the warm stone walls enveloping her like a warm hug, fending off the emotions that threatened to overwhelm and destroy the day that was yet to unfold before her.

Stepping through the huge doorway that lead to the courtyard, the warmth of the rising sun surrounded her, lifting away the dark thoughts that had momentarily overcome her mind.

“Hermione!” A chorus of voices called out, causing the bright-eyed witch to stop in her tracks and turn to face their owners. Lavender Brown, Parvati and Padma Patil, as well as Luna, waved from a distance, their figures clad in bright summer clothes, clinging to the last dregs of warmth that would soon turn to bitter coldness.

Hermione watched as the group of girls walked toward her, Luna talking with Padma while Lavender and Parvati linked their arms together. 

“Do you mind if we join you to watch the try outs? I heard Ron was going to try for Keeper and I want to cheer him on.” Lavender, with her pale green eyes, beamed, her hair pushed back by a red headband. 

“Come on,” Hermione smiled, holding out a hand for the other girl to grasp. “It’ll be nice to have company while I cheer on from the stands.”

Although their relationship had not started off on the best of terms, the two young women seemed to have become something almost akin to close friends. They were almost complete opposite in looks, with Lavender standing a fair few inches taller than her, her skin the colour of freshly ground coffee and her hair falling in gentle waves down her back, it had been jealousy that had stopped Hermione from trying to be friends. But ever since last year, when the Patel twins and Lavender had shown up for DA practice, Hermione couldn’t help the fondness she felt for the young girl from manifesting.

“Do you think you’ll finally make a move on him this year? You’ve been pining over Ron for a while.”

The stunning woman blushed deeply at the mention of a possible relationship with Ron, Hermione and Parvati laughing at her discomfort. Every word that she had said was true though. Hermione had watched as the radiant woman beside her had watched from the shadows, biting her lip, her nerves written plain as day over her face.

A couple of times Hermione thought Lavender might actually take that leap and ask Ron out, perhaps study together, get a coffee or butterbeer next time they were in Hogsmeade. But no, as soon as she had taken a step forward, it was as if an invisible chain prevented her from moving any closer.

Now seated in the stands, watching as the tryouts finally got underway, Hermione couldn’t help the thrill of excitement that coursed through her veins. This was Harry’s first official task as Captain. He couldn’t pick favourites, had to base everything purely off skill.

Looking down at the pitch, Hermione saw that Ron and Cormac were talking, the red headed boys even more pale that usual, Cormac’s words seeming to affect him quite substantially.

Well, Harry would have to chose on who manages to block the most goals. He might not seem agile, but Ron has a certain luck that always seemed to be on his side in matters of physical prowess.

Ron was up first, and although each block was clumsy, with all the grace of a lame monkey, he managed to block each and every one of them. Lavender practically squealed with delight, jumping up from her seat and cheering so loudly Ron looked up, his eyes locking with the young beauty.

That moment was pure magic. Was this how it had looked when Hermione and Harry had finally succumbed to their feelings. The air was riddled with electricity, the warm summers breeze rolled over the air like a crashing wave. Ron’s eyes sparkled from where he floated, suspended in the sky like a star-struck man. 

Looking over to the young woman beside her, Hermione smiled as Lavender lifted a hand and waved timidly at the man with flames for hair. “I think he’s finally noticed you.” Was all Hermione said before turning her attention back to the pitch, Cormac taking Ron’s place, arrogance permeating the air around him.

Hermione watched as McLaggen blocked every ball with grace and ease, his eyes flicking toward her after every successful hit. 

Wait. Is he peacocking? 

Hermione glared at him, wishing above all else that she could cause him to miss one, to make him let a ball go into just one goal. That would set him behind Ron, that would make him the back-up instead of on the actual team.

The young witch watched as the ball went flying toward him, her mind unconsciously chanting the word Confundo, her mind wanting nothing more than for the arrogant arse-hole to fail, watch the bravado and cockiness dim from his eyes.

The young witch was surprised when McLaggens broom jerked to the left, causing him to miss the quaffle completely. It shouldn’t have happened, she didn’t even have her wand grasped, didn’t, yet she saw with her own two eyes McLaggens broom jump to the left.

What she didn’t see was McLaggen’s eyes lift and lock on her, Fury simmering just beneath his exterior.


	9. Update on my Life

Hey guys. 

This isn't a chapter so much as an update on why it's taking so long for me to get the next chapter out. I definitely have not forgotten about my baby and all of you guys, trust me. I've had some pretty amazing and major changes in my life recently and I've had to put this on hold for a week or two. 

I've recently just moved and really only just settled in to the new place, I've started a new job and University is starting back up soon so my life has been a serious of events that have been both amazing yet terrifying at the same time.

I promise I have definitely started chapter 9, and I want to make sure it is perfect before I let you guys read it. I want to make this one amazing for you because you have all stuck by me without wavering and it honestly makes me so happy that I have all of your support and amazing encouragement to back me and keep me going.

I really do love and appreciate you all.

Meelieaaa xxxxxxxx


	10. Someone Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie Dokies guys, Hopefully I'll be back into a regular posting schedule soon. I'm hoping to have new chapters posted every Monday, and if not Monday, it'll be Wednesday.
> 
> Again, Thank you all so much for you support, you guys really make this all so worth while.

It had been a month since the tryouts, a month since Ron made keeper in the Gryffindor team, a month since McLaggen stormed off, anger radiating from him in waves of palpable energy. A month since Hermione cheated, confunding the McLaggen boy to miss. A month of bad training ever since the try outs.

Classes have gone by like clockwork, the only real slice of normalcy in the young witch’s life. In between patrolling the corridors at night, handing out detentions, deducting points and helping those who needed it, Hermione was surprised that she hadn’t run herself into the ground. Yet here she was, still the brightest witch of her age, still being the light for young students to turn towards. In the vast, ever-changing, sea that was her life, Hermione was the only thing that remained the same.

Now she was walking through the corridors of the east side of the school, wand held in front of her, illuminating the darkness that seemed to press in on the Head Students, its weight almost smothering them. The glow was pale and bright enough to let the young witch see a few meters in front without fear of falling down a set of stairs yet dim enough not to hurt her eyes.

The Head Boy was behind her by a few meters, his silence almost sad, disconnected from the rest of the world that surrounded him. They were almost akin really; both thrust into a role they were not ready for, and even though Draco has said nothing toward her about his personal life, it was evident that something weighed on his mind greatly. She would sneak looks at him during their silent study sessions in their dorm, a slight crease between his brow as his pale eyes absorbed what was sprawled in front of him. It couldn’t be homework that was straining against his mind, he would get it over and done with as soon as classes finished, making it look as if there was nothing in the easier in the world. They were so similar in that regard, somehow making a bit of a game out of their study sessions to see who would be able to finish the fastest, the shock of his exemplary brain finally showing in the first week back having worn off. Neville had been completely correct in assuming that a bit of healthy competition was exactly what she needed.

No. Something far more serious was causing the young Malfoy to fret and start chewing his once impeccable nails down to the beds.

Moonlight trickled through the ornate windows that adorned each floor of the school, the wispy tendrils of their breaths curling before them as the temperature falls far below the usual realm of normal. Dust motes dance in the air as they pass by, the cold beginning to seep deep into the young witch’s bones. The changing of the season seemed to have happened over night, the thing jacket that covered her body doing nothing against the biting cold of the inevitable winter that was about to unfold. 

September had always been a bit temperamental with its weather, changing dramatically from warm and cosy, to freezing uncomfortableness that no-one could seem to shake from their soul. Tonight seems to be one for the history books, Hermione’s fingers gradually losing their sensation.

Looking behind her, Hermione ran an observant eye over the young Malfoy to see if the chill was affecting him as much as it was her. Honey eyes took in how his hair seemed to glow in the paleness of the moon, streaks of iridescence shimmering faintly under the orbs light. It was as if his entire being had been carved from marble, his skin fair, almost ghostly, under the moons watchful gaze, eyes almost as pale as the locks he let hang loose past his shoulders. The only colour to him was his lips, which were a delicate pink. Even his suite was black and white, his hands thrust lazily into its pockets, his demeanour cool, disinterested.

A chill ran a delicate finger down her spine as his eyes locked with hers, hard, cold, calculating. There was no warmth inside, no joy, happiness, not a single spark of any emotion. Just a flat coldness. 

He was made of marble.

Looking away, Hermione sped up infinitesimally, unnerved by the boy’s lack of emotion. It would be better if there was anger, or hatred, maybe even distaste in the curve of his mouth, the glint in his eye. Instead it was as if he were a baron wasteland, devoid of emotion.

“It’s rude to stare Mudblood.” So close, she felt the breath of his words against the nape of her neck.

Ignoring the overbearing presence that strolled casually behind her, Hermione stiffened her shoulders and kept walking. The beating of her heart seeming to thrum erratically against her skin, warning bells pealing inside her head.

“Or did your parents never teach you how to be polite in someone else’s presence?”

Stopping mid stride, Hermione turned to face the emotionless boy with eyes that seemed to look straight through her. “I was wondering how someone could be so devoid of emotion. You act like an ass, like someone who has the world at their fingertips. Yet whenever you think no-ones looking, your features turn to stone, almost as if you were petrified, yet sometimes I see a faint glimmer of frustration rattle that cold exterior of yours.”

“Have you ever thought it was because I don’t deem you worthy of my emotions? Why would I allow someone so far beneath me to see my true self, to even glimpse what I could be?” The young Malfoy stood only a few inches away, glacial eyes boring into her own. His lips sat in his natural downward sneer, hair swaying slightly as he cocked his head.

“Because,” Hermione breathed, turning around to continue her patrol. “I don’t think you actually feel anything at all Draco. I don’t think you’re capable.” 

The silence that followed was all consuming, almost unnatural in the way that Draco’s footsteps were barely audible. A chill steadily wrapped its spindly fingers around her body, goose-bumps rising along her arms and neck the further the pair walked down the corridors.

Darkness.

Absolute darkness.

“Draco?” 

Hermione staggered a step or two forward, the light that had been radiating from the tip of her wand had been extinguished. There were no distinguishable shapes near her, no sounds, nothing. No matter how long the young witch waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness that had encapsulated her, nothing became clearer.

Stumbling a few steps forward, hands outstretched just to make sure she didn’t run headfirst into a wall or a door, Hermione swallowed deeply. Where was Malfoy? What had happened to the lights? Was she even still in the school?

“Hermione?” Draco sounded very distant, as if he were calling from inside a closet, or a classroom that was a fair way away. “Hermione, can you hear me?”

“I can hear you Draco. Do you know what’s going on?”

“I have no idea.” He sounded further away. More distant.

Shit.

The young witch knew exactly where she was, knew exactly where to go to get to the Library, but splitting up wasn’t exactly something they should be doing considering the castles habit of changing passages and stairways.

“I’m going to head to the Library, hopefully the further away from this we are, the more it’ll clear up.”

Hermione didn’t wait for his reply as she strode confidently in the direction she knew would take her to the place she visited most often. The clack, clack, clack of her shoes was the only sound in the empty halls, unnerving, almost scary.

“Shouldn’t you be with someone?

It was only a whisper, a ghost of a voice, but it had sounded from directly behind the young witch, sending the pitter patter of her heart into overdrive. It was still completely black, undeniably terrifying. The sound of someone whispering, without the footsteps to accompany the voice almost sent her running. 

“You don’t sound like a ghost,” Hermione had meant the words to come out strong, full of authority, but even to her own ears they sounded small.

The voice laughed, floating around her until was directly in front of the young witch, hot breath brushing over her face, a foul stench that made her want to gag. “That’s because I’m not princess.”

A cold sweat broke out across her brow as the words were uttered, small tremors slowly creeping their way throughout her body as she took a tentative step backward, bile rising in the back of her throat. “Then what are you?”

Cold, clammy hands made contact with her neck, a tentative touch that left a trail of damp in their wake. Revulsion rocked her body as she took another step backward, her breathing starting to come faster and harder. Whoever it was, they could see in the darkness that seemed to surround her, that seemed to choke out the light and turn everything into a void of nothing.

“Run.”

Hermione’s body didn’t need telling twice, her heart thrumming away in her chest almost painfully as wobbly legs turned the young witch around and carried her away in the opposite direction that she had originally been going. Each breath that wheezed from her lips burned her chest; each footfall that connected with the ground sent a jolting shudder running up her legs as she sprinted away from whoever had been with her. Shoulders and feet colliding with walls as they changed direction, bruises and scrapes already littering her body.

“Faster.”

A small whimper sounded from within as the young woman pushed herself harder, ignoring whenever she collided with a wall, pushing herself away frantically, the laughter of her pursuer enveloping her as she ran.

“Draco!” She screamed, throat burning from the exertion she was putting herself through. “Drac..” Her voice was suddenly silenced, nothing but air whistling past her lips.

“You should have run faster.”

  
A heavy hand collided with the young witch’s shoulder, causing her too loose her footing and slam into the nearest wall, a resounding crack echoing through the blackness as her head hit the exposed brick. The sensation of blood trickling down her forehead surprised the young witch as her body jerked back, staggering and swaying as a heavy fog started to cloud her mind.

Moving seemed to take more effort than usual, each step causing pain to shoot along the young witch’s spine as blood trickled over her face.

“There’s nowhere for you to go princess,” The voice was back, seeming to come from right beside her, as if the person it belonged to was walking at her pace. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t have a concussion with how slow you’re walking. I guess that just means you’ll be easier to manage.”

Hermione furrowed her brow, the sticky sensation of blood on her face an after thought as she tried to place the voice that was speaking. It was so familiar, yet it somehow seemed completely alien to her as well. 

“You look as if you’re trying to figure out something.” They laughed, the voice floating in front of where she was walking. “That frown makes you look so serious. Try not to strain yourself too hard.”

I need to keep moving, need to keep going. Need to find help.

The same cold, clammy hand that had touched her before found her neck again, this time wrapping beefy fingers around it, squeezing until Hermione could barely breath. Small hands clawed at the fingers around her neck as the force behind it forced her backwards until she was flush against the stone wall of the castle.

She wanted to scream or curse, maybe even try and hex the person who was doing this, but try as she might, no silent spell she mouthed worked, the fog in her brain causing her focus to slide from the bastard that was doing this.

“You know Hermione,” Came the voice, hot breaths tickling her ear as the stench of alcohol forced its way up her nose. “I’ve been watching you for a few years now, watching you grow, watching you thrive and become the woman you are today.” 

Bile rose-up in Hermione’s mouth as a tongue traced the curve of her jawline. She wanted so badly to scream for help, to hex, to protect herself. Tears made their way down her face as the person who had her trapped bit down hard on her neck, great, heaving sob causing her body to shake uncontrollably.

“Yet you never noticed me,” The voice whined playfully, their other hand roughly groping her chest as she writhed under their ministrations. “Never mind though, you’ll notice me tonight, and any other time I come to visit you.” The hand around her throat tightened its grip, completely choking off her air-supply.

Frantically, the young witch thrust her hands out, clawing at her assailant’s face, satisfaction resonating throughout her body as they roared in anger and pain, their grip on her throat loosening ever so slightly. 

Raising her knee, guessing where to strike, a satisfyingly hard impact in a most delicate place gave the young witch all the opportunity she needed as a pained groan sounded from before her, the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor telling her that whoever it was, they were now lying on the floor in a great amount of pain.

“You fucking cunt,” the voice snarled between great heaving breaths. “Crucio!”

* * *

Now where has this darkness come from?

Draco stood still as he let his eyes adjust to the darkness that now seemed to recede with every step further away Granger took. Whatever… No, whoever was doing this wanted to target the young woman, scare her, maybe isolate her.

Frowning slightly, Draco followed the receding darkness, making sure to keep just out of its grasp.

This will not do. She was his plaything, his toy, his possession. _I do not share._

He’d never heard her sound so terrified, so alone. He had wanted to hear her sound like that for what could very nearly be years, but he had wanted to be the cause of that terror, not the one to be asked for help, to be the one to save her. But alas, whoever was fucking up his plans seems to put him in a good light with the object of his obsession.

Staying back, and watching the darkness follow the young woman around, anger radiated from deep within the young Malfoy. No sounds had erupted from the darkness since her last cry for help had been cut off. Surely there was no-one else in there, no-one had that sort of power besides himself. No-one else had studied forbidden transcripts and ancient techniques.

Hesitantly, Draco took a step forward, worry creasing his brow. Surely the mudblood would have been able to defeat whoever this was by now, she’s almost as powerful as he is, her magic barely contained within her small body.

Draco couldn’t wait until the cloud dissipated. With a wave of his wand, the dark cloud that had blocked the light from Hermione’s world dissipated, and with it, the horror of what was happening to his possession came crashing down on him.

There she lay, curled on her side, arms wrapped around her legs as bruises formed along her exposed skin, many more bound to be blossoming beneath her clothes as well. Blood trickled from an open wound on her forehead, covering most of her face and clothes. 

Draco knew it wasn’t a lot of blood, but the sight of her laying so feebly, so pathetic and beaten, with bruises that weren’t given by him, with fear that hadn’t been caused by him, made his blood boil. There was nothing he could see but red. The red of her blood, the red of hatred, of her lips as they trembled, of the inside of whoever did this head.

“Just so you know,” a disembodied voice cooed in Draco’s ear, smooth and cold. “I didn’t get a chance to fuck her, you stopped me there.”

Laughter resonated throughout the hall as the disembodied voice faded away.

So there seems to be someone else here who wants her. 

Looking down at her now, at the tears that mixed with the blood on her face and the puddle of vomit by her head, the wet trousers and hair that seemed to have been ripped out by the handful, Draco growled.

_I’ll kill whoever they are. She’s mine._

_She’s mine._


	11. Short Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is only a short chapter due to uni already piling a lot of things on us. I hope you guys enjoy it though :)

_Make it stop, please make it stop. Make it go away, make them stop._

“You’re mine princess,” the disembodied voice had snarled, playfulness gone. “And I’ll keep coming back until you break.”

_No, please._

“Crucio.”

_Why can’t I scream? Why doesn’t my voice work? Oh my god, Oh my god, please help me, someone please help me. I can feel my body breaking, I can feel the pain all over my body. Oh God, please._

“You brought this on yourself Princess,” A cool hand gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind the writhing girls’ ear, almost in a loving manner. “You did this, you fought back, you ran. This could have been so much easier.”

_They’re going to kill me; they’re not going to stop until I’m dead._

“I wish I could hear you scream, hear the pain that is surely almost unbearable.”

_Harry! Harry please help me, please save me._

“But if I let you scream, let you use those powerful vocal-chords of yours, the whole school would be on me in an instant.”

_My bones. My skin. They’re ripping me to pieces, burning me alive, doing it over and over. My body is shattering and reforming again and again, a million times over in an instant. No wonder Neville’s parents chose to escape._

“Just watching you writhe in agony, at the complete mercy of me and my mind is going to have to be enough for now. But I can’t control myself when I’m near you.”

_What are you doing? Get your hands off me, get your filthy hands off me!_

Hot, heavy breaths washed over the young witch’s face again, the stench of liquor making her head spin even more than it was. At some point, the curse had stopped, replaced with the feeling of wandering hands while she lay there, almost immobile. Too weak to fight back.

“No-one’s looking for you Granger. That Head Boy won’t come looking for you. You yourself said that he had no emotions, that he couldn’t feel anything.”

Soft lips trailed light kisses along her neck and across her collar bone where the jacket she had previously been wearing had covered. Her top soon lay abandoned with the jacket, no more than scraps of fabric after being torn from her trembling form.

_I’m so cold. I can’t stop shivering. Harry, Draco, someone, please, for the love of God, please save me._

With one final effort, with all the remaining strength she held in her body, Hermione kicked out at the invisible attacker, booted foot coming into contact with something soft. Satisfaction and a spurt of adrenaline gave the young witch the strength she needed to clamber to her feet and run.

_I just need to find a classroom, a teacher, someone. I just need to find someone._

A roar of anger made the walls tremble around the half-naked woman as her assailant gave chase again, a solid form tackling the small woman to the floor, jaw cracking and ribs snapping on impact.

“You’re feisty,” They panted, a fist entangling itself within the tresses of her locks. “But you can’t get away from me that easily.”

_Fuck! Fuck!_

“Crucio.”

Pain erupted throughout the witch’s body, like a roaring fire that had been ignited with gasoline and a match. It started in the muscles that held her head up straight, the flames licking up through her scalp and down her spine, roaring down every nerve and vein that interreacted with each-other. The pain burned so bright, she felt as if each star was being outshone by her very being.

The screams that passed her lips were silent, but the blood that leaked from the side of her mouth from the constant strain of her silent scream let her know that she wasn’t dreaming.

Warmth blossomed between her legs; embarrassment soon forgotten as the pain quickly overtook the thoughts of her bladder letting loose.

_Just kill me, make it stop. I can barely think anymore, barely remember what being normal was. We’ve been at this for hours, days, maybe months. I want to die, I want to fight, I want to give up. But I couldn’t leave Harry._

“Looks like someone’s found us princess,” the voice snarled, annoyance evident in their tone. “No matter, I’ll find you again, we’ll have some more fun soon enough.”

_The pains stopped; it’s stopped._

Fresh tears rolled down the witch’s face as she curled into herself, wrapping trembling arms around her legs, vomit making its way past her lips before unconsciousness finally gripped her tightly, pulling her away from the torment and terror of the nights happenings.

~~

“You didn’t see who did this to Miss Granger?”

_Such a gentle voice. I feel safe whenever that voice is around. Albus Dumbledore, with his half moon spectacles and soft white beard._

  
“No, they had fled before I had gotten the chance to see who had attacked her. By the time I had reached her, she was already unconscious, top and jacket torn to shreds.” So cold, perhaps even more so than usual. There was an emotion there that she couldn’t figure out. Anger? Boredom? Curiosity?

“I thank you, young Draco. Who knows what would have happened to Miss Granger if you had not have shown up?” A tenderly gentle hand wrapped itself around the barely conscious witch’s own, soft skin almost reminiscent of her mothers. “Thanks to you, she’s safe and sound.”

“I feel if I had been more attentive to our surroundings, more aware, then perhaps this might not have happened.” 

_He’s not angry, he’s beyond furious. But why?_

Hurried footsteps filled the Hospital Wing, multiple whispers being thrown back and forth between people as they arrived, a startling hush falling over the new arrivals as they took in their friends’ condition. It was evident by the stretched-out silence who it was and what they were seeing.

“We have no idea who did this potter, I didn’t get a chance to see them.” Footsteps echoed around the room, bouncing off walls, Draco’s voice getting lost in the sound. “but I will find them, this is unacceptable.”

The silence that followed the young Malfoy’s words was long, uncomfortably so. 

_I’m safe here, I’m protected, I can sleep._

* * *

Draco Malfoy looked down at the young woman who had captivated his mind for so long, at the steady rise and fall of her chest, the broken bones and bruises that were nothing but a distant memory, at the hair that had regrown and puffy red eyes that no longer existed.

Magic was truly a wonderful thing. It could erase people’s memories, create beautiful displays of power, bring to life peoples nightmares and turn your enemies into dust for the wind to carry away.

Yet seeing it used on Granger, seeing the pain, the terror and lack of self-control, the undeniable scars that it left mentally was nothing but excitement. True, it hadn’t been him to do those things to her, he hadn’t been the one to torment, degrade and incapacitate, but seeing the after effect of those things, seeing the results of only a few minutes of torture on the object of his affection, of his obsession, was thrilling.

_I can learn from this ones’ mistakes, grow better techniques, better methods, and styles, perhaps even be able to make her want me to do those things to her by the end of it._

The young Malfoy walked the waking halls of the school, a delicate crease between his brows as the students headed toward the Great Hall for breakfast. They all seemed to give him a wide birth as his stooped form headed to bed. 

Today students were able to visit Hogsmeade, set themselves free, indulge on sweets, buy books, clothes, anything, really, that the small town offered. It was where he had planned to test Hermione’s resolve, where he had planned to put his second plan into motion. But instead, he was going to be spending a majority of his time figuring out who the hell had beaten him to the young witch.

The only solace that Draco had was the fact that whoever it was hadn’t yet fucked her. That, at least, was something in his favour. Not that if she wasn’t a virgin, he would change his mind, not at all, but the thought of being her first…

Upon reaching his room, Draco threw his clothes to the floor, already hard from the image of Hermione beaten and terrified before him. At the way her eyes were shuttered against the world, the tears that had run down her face, at the sight of her exposed body. Draco couldn’t contain the moan that escaped him as he remembered the look she had in her eyes before unconsciousness claimed her, or how she felt pressed against his body as he carried her to the hospital wing. 

He could imagine the way she would feel as she writhed beneath his touch, at the pounding of her heart as clothes were torn from her body, the delectable cries and the way she would fight back undoubtedly.

Draco’s release was furious, almost overwhelming to the point where he had to relax, regain his breath and composure. Even when fucking Pansy, he had never experienced something so visceral, so primal before. All this did was cement the fact that his thoughts, his want and desire for Granger was the correct way to go.

Waking to the sound of knocking on his chamber door, Draco awoke from his sleep, unaware of how long he had been unconscious for, surprised that the anger for Grangers assailant hadn’t kept him up.

Swiftly, he wrapped the green robe around his shoulders and opened the bedroom door. Surprise fluttered inside his chest when honey brown eyes stared up at him, not a mark to be seen on the porcelain skin that seemed to glow in the suns light.

“I wanted to thank you,” her voice was horse, the only sign of the struggle that had occurred the night before. “If you hadn’t shown up, I…” The young witches throat bobbed as she swallowed, struggling with putting into words what they both knew would have happened.

Draco looked down at the young woman, something akin to anger simmering deep within him. His precious pet, so broken and timid from the monster that had done this to her. Yet he would not show her any difference in his behaviour. The last thing he wanted was for his girl to feel weak.

“It was the right thing to do Granger,” The young Malfoy shrugged, his heart beating strangely in his chest as her gaze stayed upon him. “I’m not as cold and callous as you think me to be.”

Turning to leave, a small hand placed itself gently on his arm, holding him in place with nothing more than the heat that radiated from it. “Then let me actually thank you, Draco Malfoy, for helping me when you could have left instead. You saved me.”

Turning slightly, the top of her curls all his eyes could see, Draco nodded once, before closing his door. 


	12. Perchance to Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, my life has become a bit hectic at the moment so I'm going to have to start posting once every two weeks instead of every week. II love you all and hope you enjoy this chapter!!

_Slowly I fall, from my beating heart to the ground where I lay. Falling ever so gently, with the wind at my back and the sun’s rays kissing my face, their warmth caressing my skin as what I once knew to be truth lay bared before me to see, to hold, to protect._

_I never thought that something so real could come from someone I had never met before. The way my heart flows with the sound of her voice, the ever-violent ocean that were her eyes, tracking my every move, my every breath. It was as if she knew what I was thinking, even when no words passed my lips, only screamed from the rooftop that was my mind._

_I was entranced by her beauty, a soft summers breeze that carried with it the blossoms of the cherry tree. She danced with unabashed shame, twirling and leaping, folding in on herself before she burst forth with such exuberance, she shone brighter than the sun._

_You wouldn’t be able to stop your curious eyes as they swallowed her whole, the way her body flowed with every step, ripples of laughter gently lapping at your feet as she flashed her smile, so innocent in her ways, yet so sad in her knowledge. What did I do to deserve her in my life?_

_Spring was when she flourished the most, her colours shining brighter than the flowers that bloomed around her, hair tumbling in waves that shifted of their own free will. The twinkle in her eyes and the sound of her voice was enough to send me into a frenzy, she was my drug, my antidote, and my downfall._

_I know those moments weren’t meant for me, weren’t meant for my memories, my heart, my soul. Yet there I keep them, treasured and protected against those who would take them away from me. I want to keep her there with me, safe in my arms, safe from the world and all its atrocities and hardships._

_If only she could see that I would be the best person for protection, for love, for pleasure and fulfillment. Instead she chose someone far less, far weaker, someone who eventually would become nothing more than a memory._

_Then, she’ll run to me, let me hold her, let me love her, ravish her with every fibre of my being. Only then will she realise the mistake she had made, because she won’t want me to be that man, won’t want me to be her saviour. She’ll see me as a monster._

_Because that’s what I am. A creature of darkness drawn to the light, not out of the want to change, to become better, but to control and capture her shining beauty, make her warmth and laughter mine alone._

_I am not a hero, not someone who is trapped in the darkness yet longs for the warmth of the light, the gentle caress of her sweet rays. No. I am a creature of darkness, the prince of my realm, the ever-present paranoia that slowly chips away at one’s sanity._

_I was raised to be charming, cold, calculating. But what my family of snakes and white eels hadn’t considered was me being something more than they could ever be. My dreams are bathed in blood and agony, the sweet songs of torture and despair lulling me into a calm that feels like no other._

_I am ever-changing in my form, ever-changing in my life. I am no longer part of my family, no longer something so slimy, so disgusting. No, I have risen above them all. I have been reborn, with the abilities to take what I want, what I know truly belongs to me._

_I am a Basilisk, a Dragon, a Black Phoenix that dies and is reborn into something far more fearsome, far more deadly. And if she won’t love me, I will still have her anyway._

_Her strong will, beautiful smile, emerging magic, I will break it all. I will break her until she is nothing, a blank slate with which I can remould into something spectacular. Crimson blood will cover her body, bruises and gashes from when she fights back. Punishment of the highest degree, I will force her to love me, force her to bend to my will._

_I will make her watch those she loves drop like flies to the floor, see her heart shatter into a million pieces as she watches them die, while I laugh, and I grow._

Draco woke with a start, the remnants of his dream clinging to his sleep addled mind, spiderwebs that have yet to be shaken loose from their residence seemed to cloud his thoughts. It hadn’t felt like a dream, more like a recollection of thoughts and feelings. How he should be. What he is.

Looking over at the window, at the curtains that were slightly parted, the moonlight that was dampened by the passing clouds, the young Malfoy sat up. He was stiff, in his shoulders and back, each of his movements unnaturally jerky. 

_Maybe working on the vanishing cabinet will put my mind at ease. It’s too late to ask for Crabb or Goyle to help, and Blaze has gone home for a family “emergency”._

The biting cold of the stones that made up his bedroom floor sent rampant shivers up and down his spine, goose-bumps rising along his arms as he dressed silently, his mind wondering to the Room of Requirement, all its hidden treasures and forgotten memories

Uncovering Potter’s invisibility clock, wrapping himself in its delicate fabric, the young Malfoy made his way to the vanishing cabinet, mind still reeling from his sleep-addled mind and the thoughts that had made themselves abundantly clear. It was now obvious to him how much his little Mudblood affected him, how he thought of himself, saw himself, and what he thought of his family and everyone around him.

Was it horror or resignation that now gripped his heart as he walked in solitude through the abandoned halls, his brow furrowed at the swirling storm of emotion that seemed to flurry through his mind. With the night showing no signs of leaving his company in the near future, he guessed that the stars and the moon were to be his only companions while he brooded.

“Then let me actually thank you, Draco Malfoy, for helping me when you could have left instead. You saved me.”

The beating of his heart spluttered slightly at the recollection of his Mudbloods thanks, at the realisation that she saw him as a saviour and not what he truly was. A monster parading around in a humans skin, with nefarious thoughts his daily mental tests, and a longing that was steadily eating him up inside.

_If only you knew what I really was, and what I truly want to do to you._

So lost within his own mind, the young Malfoy didn’t realise that his project was before him until the dull shine of lit candles flickered off its chipped exterior. The curves of dark oak, with the lacquer that had once protected it long since forgotten, was a thing of beauty. Its peculiar angles and smooth edges reminded the young man of Granger in a strange way. The way it flowed, the way she bent, how they will both mimic each other when it comes time to put the two to use.

In the chaos of what will inevitably happen, he will whisk away his prize, his possession, keep her away from prying eyes until she is reborn into someone, something, that he would be proud to display to the world.

With their power combined, they would be stronger than any other wizarding cult, team, order, Dark Lord. They would rule the world side by side, himself with the perfect woman by his side. Adoring, caring, loving to only himself; cruel to all others.

Until that night though, until everything falls into place, he could keep up the charade of saviour, of the distant, brooding, misunderstood man raised in the wrong house.

He could play the part until he could finally take that mask off.

* * *

Hermione awoke with bile in her throat and a body drenched in cold sweat despite the heavy duvet that ensconced her body. The thrumming heart that would not abate its erratic behaviour inside of her chest set nerves on edge and eyes searching for a disembodied voice in the skittery shadows that the fires light could not reach.

The sound of birds singing their morning chorus and the dull light that managed to weasel its way through the gaps in the heavy curtains was enough indication to show that the young witch had slept through yesterday, right up to the next day’s morning call.

Placing bare feet on the stone floor, Hermione forced her body to move toward the bathroom, each step unsteady, much like after strenuous exercise, or a marathon. Yet, what had been done to her, what had almost happened, that was no voluntary exercise, or activity she had anticipated.

What made it far worse was the culprit was a student. Someone who had access to forbidden magic, who was powerful enough to use it, to not get caught. They had managed to separate her from the Head Boy, managed to torment, torture, toy and almost rape. There was no denying their intentions with her.

_Who would have guessed that my knight in shining armour would have been Malfoy?_

It took all the young witch’s effort to get herself presentable for the day, the urge to crawl back into bed and stay there almost too powerful to deny. But, if she did that, if she gave into that urge, then whoever had attacked her would win, and that is just not acceptable.

Before leaving the Dorm and facing the bleary-eyed students of the school, Hermione gave herself one more once over. Throwing her shoulders back and lifting her head in a way that gave an air of confidence, the young witch stepped through the portrait that hid their rooms and made her way down to the Great Hall.

It all seemed hard, hard to smile at passing students, to make idle chatter with fellow classmates, to help those that needed it. Every new voice set her heartbeat racing, everybody that brushed past her own was a vivid reminder of what happened.

_Breath girl, you’re safe, no-one is going to attack you in broad daylight. And it looks like no-one has told anyone about it either, so you need to remain calm._

The smell of food set Hermione’s stomach growling, the lack of substance in her stomach becoming painfully obvious with every second that passed. The sound of hundreds of students talking was almost overwhelming, her senses lighting up with every scent, sound and sight that she could absorb.

The young witch stood at the threshold to the Great Hall, hesitant to be surrounded by so many people, so many unknowns. It set her mind racing, the palms of her hands quickly becoming damp, her throat dry.

“It’s alright Granger, Potter is waiting for you at the table.”

That voice, so cold and calculating, was a small reassurance to her overwhelmed mind, the back of Draco’s silver head already vanishing into the throng of recently arisen students. His words were a comfort to her, because true enough, green eyes met hers and warmth flooded her blood as he swiftly got to his feet, striding toward her with nothing but adoration in his eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you out of bed today.” Strong arms wrapped themselves gently about her frail form, protecting her from the world, from the prying eyes of everyone that looked their way. That one simple gesture created enough of a private world that she could let her guard down, be vulnerable just for him.

“I couldn’t let him win.” A simple statement, yet Harry knew that it carried the weight of the world.

Leaning back and looking down at the woman he loved, Harry smiled, small and secret. Placing a single finger under her chin to make sure she looked at him, he brushed a chaste kiss across her lips. “No-one could ever win against you Hermione, you’re far too clever and brave to let such a thing beat you.”

Hermione knew he was right, knew that she was far too stubborn to let something like this beat her, but for now, while she was safe in Harry’s arms, she wanted to be weak. 

Together they walked over to the Gryffindor table, hand in hand as they did every morning. The smell of pancakes, cereal, coffee, pumpkin juice, eggs, toast, honey, it all hit her at once, causing saliva to gather immediately in her mouth.

Sitting down next to Ginny, Ron on the opposite side, the young witch piled her plate high with as much food as she could reach, a low growl sounding from her stomach as she started to eat. It was pure bliss, the flavours combining on her tongue almost enough to make her cry.

“Slow down Hermione, you’ll end up making yourself sick.” The group of people that surrounded her all let out a laugh as she sheepishly slowed her devouring, a slight blush gracing her cheeks. 

“Or worse yet, you’ll end up looking like Ron!”

“Oi! I’ll have you know that I am what peak performance looks like!” The red headed man across the table yelled, mouth full of food. “I even managed to keep every Quaffle out of my goals thanks to a bit of motivation from Lavender.”

Hermione looked up at her friend and beamed. “Did you guys win yesterday’s game?”

“You wouldn’t believe how well Won Won did!” Lavender Brown squealed, sliding into the empty space next to Gryffindors Keeper. “He managed to block out that awful song that Slytherin were chanting at him and played wonderfully!”

The green-eyed beauty across the table planted a gentle kiss on the red headed boys cheek before spooning porridge into her bowl, a little drizzle of honey dripping from her spoon in a gentle stream.

“I’m so proud of you Ron, that is honestly wonderful news.” Hermione smiled at her friend, taking a deep drink from her teacup. “Harry had told me about the Slytherins rhyme, I’m glad to see that it didn’t affect you.”

“Are you going to come Hogsmeade today Hermione? I heard you were pretty unwell yesterday and wasn’t sure if you’d be out of bed today.”

The young witch locked eyes with Ginny, her stomach doing a slight flip at the mention of leaving the school ground. But perhaps it would do her some good, to visit somewhere that wasn’t in school, get some fresh air.

Looking over at Harry, at the soft encouragement in his eyes and gentle squeeze of his hand on her thigh, Hermione felt herself relax considerably. She would be safe with them, surrounded by friends who knew her and how to look after her, even if they didn’t know exactly what had happened that night. 

Catching Ron’s eyes, the young witch smiled, thanking him silently for not telling anyone what had happened. The ginger merely shrugged; his smile crooked.

“I think that is an excellent plan honestly, I feel the need to get out of the school. Drink some Butter Beer, go shopping.”


	13. RagDoll

The familiar walk to Hogsmeade was tedious, almost mind-numbingly so. Each student that chattered with excitement, the third years keen squeals of delight at the distant town was almost enough to turn Draco around and head back to the Castle.

Crabbe and Goyle lumbered behind him, their footfalls heavy, much to his dismay. Even though they were loyal, brilliant at following orders, and brutish to a fault, the young Malfoy wished that they had more tact when out in the open with other students. One look at the pair and everyone knew to stay clear. It was a blessing and curse all at once.

“Blaise said he’d meet us at the Three Broomsticks by midday, so we have some time to kill. Do either of you need or want anything from any of the shops?” Glacial eyes scanned the sea of students before them, landing on golden brown hair that shone in the suns light. “I personally would like to go to Honeydukes, maybe the bookstore. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

“Honeydukes sounds like a good idea to me, getting some sweets is always on my list of things to do.”

“Me too, maybe a trip to the Shrieking Shack as well, I’ve always thought it was super cool.”

The two boys kept talking about places they wouldn’t mind visiting, their voices surprisingly gentle for the large builds. They were good boys, just raised by the wrong people, which inevitably lead them to Draco and his open arms. With such a quick mind, it was clear that these two men would become useful in the future, eager to please those who held power and authority.

Draco had been very young when he had encountered Goyle and Crabbe, the two children standing by their respective guardians’ sides while visiting Malfoy Manor. It was clear that the two had already met, their fathers having been fast friends when they were also children. Their connection was impressive, making it obvious that the young Malfoy could not have one without including the other.

“You two must be Crabbe and Goyle, I’ve heard a lot about you two and your families.” A young Draco had said, standing with his back straight and arms behind it. Even at the young age of five, Draco had an air of authority about him, with his white blonde hair sleeked back and his black suit tailored to his small frame.

“How come you aren’t wearing robes?” Goyle, with his squashed face and pudgy body clad in fine, dark blue, cloak, enquired.

“I don’t believe in the backwards fashion of Wizards and the historical views they still hold onto about mingling with muggles. Muggles are for us to use, not to protect. If I dress like one, I can happily mingle, learn and adapt as they do whilst always keeping the upper hand.

“In short, I will rule the world one day, muggle and wizard alike. But I will need friends to do so… would you like to be my friends?”

Thinking back to that moment drew out a small smile from the blonde haired man, his black suit impeccable against the dreary landscape. Wizarding cloaks, jeans, light jumpers and scarves. They were all so bland and boring.

“Alright, lets go to the Sweet Shop first then, I’d like to get some sugar quills before they’re all gone, maybe some chocolate frogs too.”

Time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, before long it was midday and the three young men were sat in a corner table at the pub, sipping on Butter Beer, chatting idly amongst themselves.

It was nice to sit down and relax before he put a minor plan into motion. The box on the inside of his pocket weighed heavily against his chest, but it would be interesting to see if this worked. If it did, there would be less pressure for him to finish the cabinet.

_Who to chose though? Someone that no-one would suspect, no-one that would set alarm bells off._

_Wait._

_Bells._

_Bell._

Black hair filled his vision as the Gryffindor Chaser entered the Three Broomsticks, smiling broadly with her friends as they weaved in and around tables, trying to find a spot to sit and drink.

_Now there’s someone who never draws attention to herself, yet everyone loves. No-one would ever suspect her of foul play. She would be the perfect person to deliver it… But how?_

A warm body slid into the booth next to the young Malfoy, heavy black coat dumped unceremoniously over the table as delicate fingers pulled themselves free from leather gloves. It was interesting to see how his groups style had changed over the years.

In the beginning he had been the only one to wear formal, muggle attire, parading around like it was the most normal thing in the world. Of course, the Mudbloods wore their clothes, but they could not afford the style and material he wore, and naturally, they wanted to fit in with the rest of the students, adorning their wizarding robes and cloaks.

Slowly, the other Slytherins in his year, the purebloods of the school, the students with high prestige, even amongst their own, started to dress in immaculate muggle clothing, claiming the fashion as their own, forming their own clique and hierarchy. Of course, Draco was at the top. He was the smartest, most cunning man in the school. Why wouldn’t he manipulate the people around him to suit his every whim.

If he was to one day rule the world, he might as well start with his school, with the people around him, the teachers, students and staff alike.

The only people who were giving him grief were the Gryffindors, but that will soon come to an end.

“Sorry I took so long; Mother was beside herself with grief. Her familiar had died.”

The table seemed to flinch at that, even Draco. To find a familiar was something extraordinary, and to have it die before you was what he heard was something akin to death. There would never be another connection like that in your life. Not with another living creature.

Crabbe shifted uncomfortably in his seat his face scrunching up as his chin wobbled. “I couldn’t imagine losing Frederick, he’s my best friend.”

“Everyone knows that the Tarantula is yours. Plus, he’s so big I don’t think anyone would go near him mate.” Goyle rested a beefy hand on his friends shoulder in a reassuring way, giving him a few pats to settle the shorter ones nerves.

“That’s true, and he hasn’t stopped growing yet, Hagrid reckons he’ll be as big as a small dog by the time he’s done.”

The group of young men collectively shivered at the thought of a giant spider running around, but there was nothing to be done. Frederick was Crabbe’s familiar and that meant no-one could harm him, even if the loathsome, eight-legged creature revolted them

Blaise adjusted the cuffs of his jacket before sitting back, his face unperturbed by the conversation at hand. The stunning man, with his ebony skin, seemed to radiate loveliness and cruel intent at the same time. “Have you figured out who you’re going to get to give the necklace to Albus?”

Grey eyes looked over at the young man, no glint of warmth radiating from within. “Katy Bell. No-one would suspect her. I don’t expect it to work, but if it does, then working on the cabinet would become futile because the wards at the school would fall.”

The brown eyed boy nodded his head before reaching for a cup of tea that seemed to have appeared before him. “Clever. She is indeed an unsuspecting girl with no enemies in any of the houses. Even a few of the Slytherin students above us seem to admire her.”

“I know,” Draco drawled, eyes locking onto the young woman again. “The thing that lead me to her was the thought of not wanting to raise any alarm bells.”

Blaise let out a surprised laugh, Crabbe and Goyle joining in a second too late to indicate they actually understood the joke. “You are full of surprises Draco, I will give you that. You’re mind truly does work in mysterious ways. Yet, it is brilliant and has never lead us astray. The idea of you teaching the younger Slytherins certain magics that the school deems inappropriate was a stroke of genius. Almost all of them are loyal to you now. You have yourself a small army.”

Draco looked over at his closest friend and smiled, a hard, cool smile that made Blaise shift in his seat. “It’s not nearly enough, but it’s definitely a start.” Rising from his seat with one fluid motion, the Malfoy Heir looked over to where Katy was now walking into the bathroom. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must entice our young courier into delivering a certain package for me.”

Weaving in and out of the full Tavern, Draco made easy work of the floor, closing the gap between him and his prey. Pushing on the door to the girls bathroom after checking that no-one was watching, Draco slid inside the female toilets.

“You do realise this is the girls bathroom, right Malfoy?” Katie bell stood at the sink, washing her hands, not even lifting her eyes too acknowledge him.

“Oh, I’m well aware Miss Bell,” Draco smiled, adjusting his jacket sleeves before pulling his wand out from an inner pocket. “Imperius.”

* * *

It had been a good idea to leave the castle, to spend time with friends and shop in the quaint stores that lined the main streets of Hogsmeade. Her bag was full of new books, robes, sweets and other trinkets she thought her parents would like.

Walking hand in hand with Harry, their combined warmth sending a shiver of delight throughout her body, Hermione felt the most relaxed and safe since arriving back at school. They had meandered the high street, stopping to stare in the windows and ogle the new merchandise that each store front revealed.

By midday, Harry and Hermione sat in front of the shrieking shack, bundled in scarves, enveloped by the warming charm Hermione had cast. Looking up at the decrepit building, the young woman smiled at the rush of memories, at the people she had met and the outcome of that journey. Leaning deeply into the man that sat next to her, the witch heaved a deep sigh and snuggled in close.

The memories of what had happened only a few nights ago were mere afterthoughts in the presence of The Boy Who Lived. With each minute that passed, that dreadful night become even more blurred, hazier.

“I’m glad you’re with me, Hermione.” The soft voice, the warmth that blossomed throughout her being, made a smile appear.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I feel safe around you Harry, I feel secure and that anything in the world is possible. I never feel pressured, overwhelmed. Everything feels like second nature around you.” Honey met forest, chocolate and mint, tiger-eye and emerald. Everything was as it should be.

Relaxing into his side, Hermione felt how Harry’s magic twirled with her, flames and water mixing to create perfect balance. He was the breath of life that rustled the trees every time the wind howled, the choreographer behind the autumn leaves dance, the artist behind each ripple on the surface of water. Hermione, on the other hand, was the embers in hearth, the warmth on a summer’s day, the steam rising from a mug of tea, the reaction of confessing true love.

They were beautiful together, in a pure, honest way. Fire and wind playing together, helping each other grow and transform, becoming stronger, more powerful, more entwined the longer they spent in the others company.

“Do you think the others are wondering where we are?”

Harry chuckled at the young woman’s thoughts, draping an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight to his side. “I’m sure they’re doing fine without us Love. They probably wanted to give us some alone time. Lavender and Ron are at the Three Broomsticks, Ginny and Dean are probably back at the castle already, Luna and Neville are probably hunting Nargles or some other fantastical creature. There’s no need to busy your mind with them when all that matters is right here, right now.”

Hermione nodded, eyelids fluttering closed as the warmth of Harry’s body seeped into hers, happiness the only emotion swirling though-out her mind.

They stayed like that, happy in each other’s company, not saying a word, but speaking volumes with just a touch. The first time their lips connected, gentle and tender, was another kind of magic. No spell was muttered, no incantation thought or swish of a wand seen, but all the same, the air around them shimmered and contorted, small flashes of light exploding around them as their world slowly dissolved into nothing but their gentle kiss.

Walking toward the Three Broomsticks hand in hand, Hermione could feel the flush on her cheeks as the quaint weather turned colder. Winter was fast approaching, the autumn air already crisp on the skin.

“I need to buy Draco a thank you gift… Is that what you do when someone saves your life? I feel rude not getting him something, I feel a verbal thanks isn’t enough.”

The tall, lanky boy that grasped her hand chuckled at the young witch’s thought process, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think I’ve ever bought anyone a thank-you present for saving my life. If I had I would be broke, most likely even owing money to the bank.”

“You buy everyone presents, every Christmas and for their birthdays.” Hermione mused, looking up at him. “I don’t think I should just gloss over it though. Something small will suffice. He saved me from a fate worse than death and honestly, I want to show my gratitude in the best way possible.”

“Alright then, lets head into the shops and see what we can find, but don’t go overboard, we don’t want it going to his head. He was already an insufferable prick; he doesn’t need help with inflating his ego.”

The rest of the day was spent in a blur, the gift that Hermione had picked out was small, but it would do the job. The pair had met back up with their friends, apart from Ginny and Dean, who were apparently back at the castle doing Merlin knows what. They had sat and drank, eaten and generally had the greatest time of their lives.

Now heading back to the castle, the girls gossiping and laughing amongst themselves while the boys rough-housed, shoving each other into nearby bushes and ditches, Hermione felt an incredible warmth spreading throughout her, much like a wildfire.

“Ron was so sweet today; he was so bashful and kept stumbling over his words. His hand was so clammy when he finally plucked up the courage to hold mine.” Lavender was practically beaming, a hot flush gracing her flawless skin as she recalled more than she was letting on.

“Neville took me to a little pet store in town that had some wonderful creatures and bugs inside. Some of them fluttered around and floated like jellyfish, they were hypno…” Luna was cut off by an inhuman scream, so full of anger and pain. It was almost as if a Banshee had appeared and decided to sing her melancholic tune to the students passing by.

Hermione looked around with frantic eyes, her heart pounding in her chest, in her head as the noise penetrated the deepest depths of her mind, mingling with her own screams from the night of her attack. Whoever it was, wherever they were, they needed help, needed soothing, rescuing. But her boots were firmly planted on the ground, chest rising and falling with increasing speed as phantom hands roamed each inch of her body.

“Oh my god.”

“What is that?”

“Could it be a banshee?”

“No, Hogsmeade is protected.”

“Katy! Oh my god, Katy!” Someone screamed, the voice laced with fear. “Katy, please, oh my god, please!”

A spindly finger skittered along the nape of Hermione’s neck as she locked up into the sky. A young woman hung suspended, mid-air, head thrown back and arms thrust wide in a sick imitation of a crucifixion. The almost demonic sound seemed to resonate from her body, bouncing off invisible walls until it was amplified one-hundred-fold. Black hair writhed around like inky tentacles, snapping in the sudden wind that had picked up.

Then, just like that, she went limp. It was as if someone had cut the strings that had held her in position and a great hand now had hold of her. With the force of what could only be described as god-like, Katy was thrown to the ground, the sickening crunch and thud of her body impacting the hard-packed earth echoing inside the honey eyed witch’s head.

The Gryffindor Chaser’s head was turned the wrong way as bones splintered through her skin and clothes at odd angles. Blood trickled from her mouth and open wounds, unseeing eyes staring directly at the now retching witch. No breath rasped passed her lips, no spasm of pain of groan to indicate any life left inside her.

How could this have happened? Who could have done this?

How could Katy Bell be dead?


	14. What it means to Live

The school was quiet for the first time since Cedric Diggory’s death. No bright colour filled the Great Hall, no laughter was heard, no idle chatter nor flippant remarks. No howling of the wind nor cry of outrage.

Just silence.

The image of the broken girl was imprinted permanently on the back of Hermione’s eyelids, the way her hair was writhing like it was suspended in water, the way that agonising scream seemed to amplify magically, essentially petrifying those who heard it.

“Today is a sad day.”

Hermione bowed her head, silent tears spilling from closed eyes as the Headmaster stood at the podium.

“Today we remember Katy, for the young, brilliant witch she is.”

No colours decorated the Great Hall, no golds, greens, purples or yellows. No candles hung suspended, nor magic filled the open space of the rafters above. Only black banners hung where house colours usually flourished.

“She was brave.”

The sound of students crying could be heard throughout, restrained cries of anguish, of anger, despair.

“Bold.”

Warm fingers entwined with the young witch’s, lending their strength to her as she cried.

“Warm.”

_“Katy, oh my god, Katy! Please!”_

“She was kind and thoughtful.”

A gasp of pain wretched itself from her throat as the memory of Katy’s lifeless body tormented her over and over again on her mind’s eye.

“But most importantly,”

_“No! Someone help her! Someone help!”_

The tears came faster, splatter onto her robe as she refused to look up, to acknowledge the memorial that was going on, her heart too heavy.

“She was loved, in the most powerful and loyal way.”

_I couldn’t save her; I couldn’t do anything. I just watched as she died right in front of my eyes._

The memorial ended quickly, each student wanting to be with friends to grieve. This was the second student death in two years. No-one felt safe anymore.

“Come on love,” So deep, so comforting, his voice was enough to sooth the roiling mass of emotions that had nestled deep within her chest. “I think we need a cup of tea and something sweet. Dobby is in the kitchens waiting for us, along with Winky.”

His grip on her hand was firm, but also reassuring, strong and warm, a small comfort against the chasm that had opened up inside.

Harry always knew what she was thinking, how she was feeling, and right now, it felt like a blessing. Hermione didn’t have to voice her thoughts, her fears or the feelings that were inside, all the young witch had to do was be in his presence and that was enough.

The walk to the kitchens was short, too short and far too quiet. The halls were devoid of life, of happiness, all the other students had retreated to their dorms to mourn in peace.

Looking up at the Boy Who lived, at the sadness in his eyes, at the drawn out expression, Hermione mentally kicked herself. Here she was, upset, yet Harry, who had been Katy’s Captain and friend hadn’t shed a single tear.

Before crossing the threshold into the kitchen’s, Hermione tugged on his hand, turning him around and enveloping him into her arms. “I’m so sorry Harry. I’m so, so sorry.”

A deep, shuddering breath echoed through her arms as the boy, held so tightly in her arms, started to cry. Broad hands grasped the back of her robes like a small infant clinging onto their mother, bunching up the fabric in a tight grip. Shaggy hair tickled the side of her face as his face buried itself into the crook of her neck, the wetness of his tears fresh against her skin.

Delicately, the young witched stroked the crying boys hair, uttering soothing sounds against his hair as her hands ran in calming circles over his back and shoulders. But Harry seemed to fold in on himself, collapsing under the weight of losing yet another friend, another family member.

They crashed to the ground, Harry sobbing uncontrollably, the tears a torrent down his face. “Why does this keep happening? Why does this keep happening?” The young man cried, slamming his fist repeatedly into the stone floor.

“Harry.”

“Why does everyone die? Why do they keep dying!”

“Harry, stop!” Hermione cried, grabbing his arm, trying to stop the young man from hurting himself further. “Harry please, please stop, please!”

The sound of the young witch’s begging seemed to reach him. His voice stopped, his arm stopped, even his tears seemed to stop.

“I know it hurts Harry, I know it does. But you aren’t alone, we haven’t left you, I haven’t left you.” Hermione’s voice trembled as she spoke, silent tears, for the broken boy before her, for the life lost, for the future that was ahead, slid down her face. “I know all seems bleak and twisted, that the world is out to get you and everyone you love. It can be such a cruel, harsh mistress, our world. Fate seems to have such a wicked sense of humour.

“But that doesn’t mean we get to just give up and throw everything away because it beat us down and took something we cherished.” Trembling hands cupped the young mans face, a tentative thumb stroking along his cheekbones. “We don’t get to throw away our composure, our values or dreams because of what has happened, or what will happen, we don’t have that luxury.

“We are still alive Harry Potter, our hearts still beat in our chests and air still fills our lungs, we still get to feel the sunlight on our faces and the taste of food in our mouths. We get to love and laugh, to dance and cry and sing and scream. We get to grow old and watch as our families live their lives to the fullest.”

Gently, the young witch pulled the broken boy toward her, resting his head against her chest as she stroked his hair and rocked side to side. “Harry, don’t you see?” She begged, tears falling onto his head while he held onto her tightly. “We get to live, we get to live and do all of those thing, so let’s do it for them. Let’s do it extra hard for the ones who cant anymore, let’s love harder, laugh louder, dance longer, sing brighter. Let’s do it Harry, let’s do it together.”

Both of them sat like that for who knows how long, minutes, hours, days. All they knew was that, if they stayed like that, in the warmth of each other’s company, the world melted away around them and they became the only things left that mattered.

* * *

Draco watched the pain from the shadows of the hallway. He had stumbled across the pair while he wondered the halls, contemplating his emotions, or lack thereof, to the situation. He felt nothing about Katy’s death, no remorse, anger, fear. Absolutely nothing.

The only time he ever felt anything was when it came to Granger, that was the only time he felt joy, or anger, jealousy. Without her, he would be just a husk.

But watching her with _him_ , made him realise that she would never belong to anyone. She would never willingly submit, surrender.

Hermione Granger only had room in her heart for Potter.

Walking back to his dorm, the cogs in his brain turning, Draco Malfoy seethed and writhed deep inside. He refused to share that which was rightfully his, refused to loan her out. She was his, his, HIS!

Looking down at his fist, at the splintered knuckles, the split skin, the blood that oozed from the open wounds, the young Malfoy straightened himself. Blood marked the bricks and the floor, and as he walked calmly to his room, it dripped along the floor as well.

“I think it’s time to have some fun with our little witch.”


	15. Practical Joke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry to everyone who has waited so patiently for me to update this story. It was an unexpected Hiatus for me to say the least and I wont bore you with how messy my life got over the Christmas period, but just know that I am back and will aim for One chapter every fortnight.
> 
> I really love you guys for sticking with me.

The day was cold and grey, the rain falling in a steady rhythm, drowning out the incessant thoughts that fluttered about the young witch’s mind. The weather had been like this for the week following Katy Bell’s funeral, the grounds threatening to flood on numerous occasions before one of the professors cast a charm to dispel the water that had gathered.

Each class that the young witch had attended seemed to be a blur of information and monotonous lecturing. It all seemed to be useless information, information that she already knew, had studied before the school year had started. All motivation seemed to have left her. It was true she still studied, but there was no joy, not thirst to consume.

Even living with Draco had lost its annoyingness. Seeing him sparked no emotion of dislike or respect, just emptiness. She spent no time in their shared common room, ignored the quick jibes he threw her way, drowning out the static in her mind with the emptiness of sleep.

After Harry had cried himself dry, the pair sat on the floor wrapped in each other’s arms, ignoring the students who shambled past them, ignoring the probing eyes and questions that friends had slung their way.

Hermione had spent that night curled up in Harry’s arms, replaying the harrowing events that had lead to Katy’s death. Replaying it over and over, trying to figure out what she could have done to prevent the outcome.

Arresto Momentum. _Why did I not use that? It was the fall that killed her, not the curse._

The young witch hadn’t slept that night, and the following morning she left before Harry awoke. The trek back to her room was so quiet, not even the ghosts were out patrolling the hallways of the school.

Tears had pricked at her eyes at that thought. Katy’s ghost would never wonder the halls of Hogwarts, future generations of witches and wizards would never get to know about the young quidditch player, her laughter and jokes. She had died off school grounds, away from the warm embrace of its familiar walls. Instead she’ll be a lost soul wondering the snow blinded streets of Hogsmeade, alone, lost.

Draco had been up when she had gotten back, his usually bright eyes and slicked back hair dull and dishevelled. Two cups of tea were steaming on the table where he sat. It was a surprise, the only emotion she had felt since the funeral, yet it was also a very welcome sight.

The exhausted witch had sat down next to the young Slytherin man and drunk deeply from her cup, the warmth of the liquid spreading like a blanket throughout her body.

It had felt like an age since someone had just sat wither, no talking, no asking of questions or pestering or pandering. Just the presence of another person who also seemed to be feeling some negative way about the whole situation that had happened.

They sat like that for what seemed an age before Hermione finally got up and stumbled to her bed. The lack of sleep, the exertion of emotions, the painful realisation that there truly was nothing she could have done to help. It all seemed to be too much for her body. She had collapsed before even reaching her bedroom door, darkness overcoming her vision in an instant.

Draco must have carried her to her rooms because she awoke in her bed, tucked in tightly with a glass of water on her bedside.

The memory fluttered about the young witch’s head as Professor Flitwick tried his hardest to explain the certain way the wand must be held to produce the best outcome for this spell. When it came time to practice the movement, it came as no surprise that her first attempt was perfect.

By the time the bell chimed to signal the end of class, Hermione had finished her papers, her homework, her study. There was nothing for the young witch to do after school had finished for the day. So, instead of going to the library, somewhere that had become quite foreign to the young witch, she made her way to the astronomy tower, away from the crowded school, away from prying eyes, away from life itself.

The climb was the hardest part, but also the part she most enjoyed. The uneven steps, the portraits that lined the walls, the windows that showed the school grounds in its entirety, the painted ceilings to look like the night sky. She had hated this place with every fibre of her being when she had been in her third grade, hated the fact she wasn’t immediately great at this school class.

Now she found solace in the absurdly decorated room, the smell of incense and the low hum of the professor who occupied these rooms.

Stepping through the beaded curtains that separated the hallways from Professor Trelawney’s classroom, Hermione took a deep breath of the calming incense that burned continuously throughout the day. This was her fourth day up here.

The first time she had arrived, the Professor smiled at her before turning away, as if she had known that the young witch would eventually arrive and knew that she needed a quiet place to escape. The magnifying glasses she wore, the clothes and accessories, still looked ridiculous but at the same time, it was enough to calm Hermione’s erratic heart and mind.

Now, as the young witch strolled past the eccentric Professor, who was absorbed in a crystal ball and whatever secrets it seemed to be telling her, the familiar sense of calm had already started to envelope her mind and soul.

Sitting down on one of the many plush cushions that lined the classroom walls, the young witch curled up and rested her weary eyes against the world that surrounded her. All the noise, thoughts, emotions and everything in between seemed to just fade away as her body relaxed into something much deeper than sleep.

Who knows how long Professor Trelawney let the young woman sleep, huddled in her protective bubble against the outside world and all its atrocities, but by the time her bleary eyes opened up, the sky outside was dark and a small plate of food sat beside her along with a cup of what looked to be pumpkin juice.

Hermione didn’t stay for long after her eyes had opened up, devouring the food before her and washing the dryness of the potatoes down with the liquid hug that had been left for her. Gathering the plate and goblet from the floor, she slowly traipsed down the stairwell, the warmth of the tower surrounding her as she descended once again into her life. But as she made her way slowly to the kitchens to deliver her dirty plate, the urge to be surrounded by the familiar smell of books almost overwhelmed her.

Looking down at her watch and realising it was only five in the evening, the young witch turned on her heal and made her way to what used to be the only place in the castle that made her feel like she belonged.

Unsurprisingly, the library was empty save for the librarian who sat behind her desk, a mountain of books surrounding her tiny frame.

The young witch stood at the entrance to the familiar room, the double doors behind her closing silently as she tilted her head back and inhaled deeply. Paper and knowledge, time and magic coursed through her body as each scent wrapped their tendrils around her heart and lungs, raising small goosebumps along her arms and the back of her neck.

Steadily, Hermione made her way deeper into the forest of knowledge and power, running her fingers along the exposed spines of each book she could reach, the iridescent lettering of some tomes twinkling up at her as she passed by.

The further she walked, the more erratic her magic seemed to become, finally awakening after its dormant stint. Fluttering about her hands and hair like electricity in a storm, like small birds soaring at their highest altitudes before plummeting down to the ground in what could only be described as the most delicious adrenaline rush the curly haired woman had ever had the delight of experiencing.

This place knew her. It knew her darkest secrets and deepest desires. It was a slumbering dragon that safeguarded her life as if it were its own hoard of treasure. Its deep, rumbling breaths, the warmth of its body, its tail wrapping protectively around her every time she would visit.

Stopping at her secret place, with its mountains of books hiding her little window seat, the glass window distorting the raindrops that splattered against it, the grounds below warped into some magical landscape.

_Accio._

Without even lifting her eyes from the serene landscape before her, Hermione summoned her favourite book, the delicate leather warm against the outstretched palm of her hand.

“How could I think that I would never be safe inside you?” Her words were nothing but a whisper, but they carried through the library on invisible wings. “How could I forget how you make me feel so human and normal?”

Taking her place on the window seat, book open on her lap, the young witch hummed to herself while her eyes devoured every word that came into view.

She was home again.

* * *

Watching her the past week, so defeated, completely devoid of curiosity and ideas, was the most agonising thing the young Malfoy had ever endured in his life. His young witch, who had been the light in every dull moment, turning heads wherever she had gone with her laughter and quick wit, seemed to be nothing but a husk of her former self.

And it was unbearable.

Draco knew that she felt strongly, felt emotions far stronger than those around her, seemed to absorb others feelings as well. But this… This was agonising to watch. He just wanted his bright, witty, fearsome witch back.

After Seeing the two on the floor in each-others embrace, he had wanted to play with her, tease and scare her, but it would be no fun if she weren’t the fisty witch he loved.

And so he waited, watching her from the shadows, picking her up when she collapsed before getting to her rooms, having tea ready every morning, making sure she ate every evening by delivering food up to the tower where she seemed to be the most relaxed.

It was heartbreaking to see his future wife look so defeated.

_She needs to get back into the library, rediscover her love of books and learning and being the smartest person in the room._

That thought came to him a few days ago, as he watched her sit on the couch, hot cup of tea in hand. And that’s when he started leaving old books on the table, intentionally bumping into her while he wandered about with an open book in his hand, muttering under his breath about needing to study and that the Library was always empty now.

Every chance he got, he piled books around, made everything book related.

And now, looking at the girl he loved, with eyes filled with tears, hair floating bout her like a phantom wraith as magic coursed through her blood, his heart become erratic and eyes widened with awe.

She was truly beautiful. Not in the blonde, dainty, quiet way that most women were, but in the untamed wild way that most men shied away from with the fear of being outshone. As they should do.

She was brighter than anyone here, brighter than the sun and more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

There was no doubt in his mind that they would become the most powerful and feared couple to ever have existed. More powerful than Voldemort, more so than Grindelwald. Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to compete and Potter would be dead long before he saw the beauty that they would create with the world underneath their feet.

The young Malfoy wanted to dance with her, let their magic entwine and become something so feared that none would oppose them.

He knew, in his heart, that he was more powerful than she, that the Librarian at the front hadn’t seen either of them enter and had retired for the night. The doors to the library were silenced and sealed. There was no escape.

That spark in her eyes, the life that coursed through her now, was exactly what he wanted when he finally took her for his own.

Darkness enveloped the room, so thick and black that no light would be able to penetrate it.

“It’s so good to see life back in your eyes, my love.” He drawled, heart pounding with the thought of a fantastic chase, the bones in his face snapping and rearranging as he dropped the vial of Polyjuice potion he had been carrying. “I was so worried that you would be a broken little toy that I would have to throw away.”

The sound of toppling books sent rampant shivers of delight running through the young Malfoys body, disguised as someone whom she loved, who she trusted.

“Harry?” She called out, a slight tremble wavering it slightly. “Harry, is that you?”

“Who else would it be?”

“Is this some sort of joke? Because this isn’t funny. You’re scaring me.”

With the flick of his wand, Draco transfigured his eyes into cats, the pitch black around his slowly becoming shapes ad outlines of things.

Steadily, he made his way toward the sound of her voice, keeping his steps perfectly quiet while he closed the distance. “I just wanted to lighten the mood for you, try and take your mind off recent events was all. I’m sorry that I scared you.”

Rounding the corner to her little nook, Draco smiled to himself as his eyes rested on the object of his desire.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Each breath he took was another step closer until they were millimetres apart.

“Surprise.” He whispered before pinning the writhing witch beneath his body, his mouth crushing her lips as she tried to fight him off.


	16. Hard to Swallow

Draco had fantasised about this moment, their lips colliding with such power, the taste of her engulfing his mind as the sensation of her skin beneath his fingers sent electricity rippling through his body.

She was magic given form, power and fear a swirling vortex inside such a small frame. It was all encompassing, a nuclear bomb waiting to be armed and detonated at the right time, an imploding star whose power was so devastating nothing would survive.

“God,” He moaned, Potters’ voice sounding in the air. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Wrapping his fingers around her throat, no, Potters’, Draco smiled to himself as he looked down at the object of his affection, the woman who held his heart in the palm of her hand. The woman who didn’t notice he existed unless he was horrible, unless he was vile or evil. The thundering of the young witch’s heartbeat underneath his fingertips, the swallowing of her fear as her throat bobbed.

“I’ve watched you for so long, Granger,” He snarled, distorting the Chosen ones voice into something sinister. “I’ve watched you surpass everyone, watched as you laughed and joked as if there were not a care in the world.”

The sensation of her stomach against his fist was almost exactly how he imagined it, her reaction, the fear and pain in her eyes, the scrabbling hands trying to loosen his grip. It was all so perfect.

“I watched as you never noticed me, never even considered me.”

His fist connected with her stomach again. The strain of her body trying to curl in on itself underneath him was ecstasy.

“I watched as you flounced around with those two morons.”

His grip on her throat tightened at the thought of her ignoring him, going out of her way to derail every plan he had.

“I just wanted you to fucking notice me Hermione!”

He hadn’t meant to strike her face, her beautifully terrified face. Yet the wet sensation of tears on his open palm was something he couldn’t deny.

“I wanted you to love me like I love you!”

Draco struck her again, harder this time, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth at the sound his open palm made as it connected with her face.

“Well,” he panted, leaning in close, their breaths mingling. “Maybe you’ll notice me this way, maybe you’ll notice me if I parade around as the love of your life, as the Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One!”

He didn’t realise that his voice had risen, that he was practically shouting, screaming in the young woman’s face, flecks of spittle raining down on her, until he stopped, the voice he had stolen echoing around the empty Library.

“And when you finally don’t know whether to trust him,” Draco whispered, lips millimetres away from the witch’s own, the strain of her breath brushing over his face. “Maybe then you’ll come to me when I am myself, without a disguise to fool you.”

Hermione had started to go red from Draco’s hand on her throat, her attempts to dight back becoming weaker with every passing second.

“You might not know it yet, Granger,” the disguised youth cooed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, an obscenely tender gesture. “But you can’t escape me, you will be mine. You belong to me and I won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in my way.”

Draco watched as the young woman’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and her frantic struggles ceased all together. It looked almost as if she were asleep, eyelashes casting dark crescents on her cheeks.

Steadily, the young Malfoy released his grip from her neck, watching with satisfaction as the object of his desires took deep breaths. The colour of her face slowly returned to normal as oxygen began to make its way throughout her body again.

She was so beautiful.

Draco ran a single finger down the side of her face, sparks of electricity shooting through his hand and up his arm.

What a magnificent creature, how bold and beautiful she was.

_You disgust me._

“Father, I didn’t expect to hear your voice again.”

_Mingling, lusting, over a Mudblood. Disgraceful._

“Don’t you agree though, she is absolutely breathtaking.”

_The only thing even remotely noteworthy about her is that she is of no importance to you or this family._

“Oh,” the young Malfoy chuckled, feeling the effects of the Polyjuice potion wearing off. “That is where you are wrong dear Father.”

_I know what is right for this family!_

“Is that why you have lost the Dark Lords favour then?” Draco snarled, rising from his position, eyes lingering on the unconscious witch. “Is that why you now cower like a beaten dog before his presence?”

_How dare…_

“No!” The young wizard roared, hands clamped tightly against his head, trying to silence the voice that had taken up residence inside. “How dare you! How dare you become so pathetic! You were one of his most trusted, one of the most feared! Now you’re nothing but a snivelling worm that doesn’t even deserve to call me son!”

Draco knew that the voice in his head wasn’t his Fathers, knew that it was his last shred of sanity trying to veer him away from the path he had chosen. In all honesty, he was more surprised about the fact that it had chosen to take on his Fathers voice and not his Mothers.

Yet here her was, battling the inner turmoil that was his mind, delving ever further into the deep abyss that had first cracked when he was twelve years old. He sunk lower and lower into the madness that had taken his Aunt, relishing in the warmth that radiated throughout his body as the last tendrils of light seemed to be swallowed up completely.

Looking back down at the still unconscious witch, Draco smiled to himself. He no longer felt weighed down or held back by the ideals that his family had instilled within him at such a young age.

This year was shaping up to be incredibly fruitful.

* * *

“Granger.”

That voice was so familiar, it was an odd comfort in the turmoil that was her mind.

“Granger!” the voice was louder now, pulling her from grogginess that had been flung upon her against her will.

“For fucks sake Hermione, are you ok?”

Slowly, the young witch’s eyes opened, the candles that illuminated the library bright, causing her to wince and the change in brightness. Opening her mouth to speak, she found that no words came out and a sharp pain throbbed throughout her throat.

“Who did this to you?” Looking up at the source of the voice, Hermione saw swirling pools of silver and a shock of white hair, not someone she thought she would ever find comfort in, but it seems to be a habit.

“Ha- someone who had turned into Harry.”

The young Malfoy blinked in what seemed to be surprise at her answer, his demeanour changing, crouching down so that he was on the same level, eyes softening enough to seem less hostile.

“Those are some exquisite bruises forming on your neck Granger,” The silver eyed man mused, eyes trailing her neck, a flicker of something flashing through his eyes too fast for her groggy mind to capture. “I can try and get rid of them for you, so there wont be a trip to the Hospital wing.”

Hermione tried swallowing and winced at the swelling and pain that jolted through her. I slight nod was all she could manage.

Draco nodded and set to work on healing.

How long had she been out for? Had anything else been done to her? Was it the same person who had trapped her in that cloud of darkness?

Tears fell silently from the young woman’s eyes as everything started to come to a head, the fear from her ordeal at having someone actively trying to hunt and torture her almost too much to bear.

_Why me?_

The two students sat in the library in silence as Draco worked on the bruises she had no doubt had formed a hideous pattern along her throat. With every passing second, though, the pain faded, as did the difficulty she had swallowing and talking.

Who knows what would have happened if Draco hadn’t shown up? This was twice now that he had saved her. Twice that she owed him in return. Nothing she could ever do would be enough though.

“Thank you, Draco,” Hermione managed to say at last, her tears now dry as she slowly got to her feet. It was instinct to accept the help that Draco offered, in this case, an outstretched hand.

“You hadn’t gone back to the dorm and I figured the only other place you would be was the Library.” He said with a shrug, keeping a careful eye on her as she slowly made her way out of the library, leaning on bookshelves and tables as she went.

“Was it still pitch black in here when you arrived? They used that Instant Darkness powder yet could still see from what I could tell.”

The young Malfoy shook his head, hands in packets as he leaned on the double doors that kept the noise of the school out. “No, by the time I arrived everything looked normal, even the Librarian seemed to have noticed nothing out of the ordinary.”

Frowning a little, Hermione accepted the answer and exited the Library, heading toward the Head Dorm, too afraid to show her face in public so soon after another attack. “I think I might go to bed early, ask the Kitchen for a snack and just try to relax after everything that’s happened.”

The Slytherin boy furrowed his brow slightly, that same flash of emotion crossing his eyes, still too fast to decipher. “Just get back safe, alright? Can’t have my partner out of commission so soon to the holidays.”

A small smile played along the young witch’s lips at the thought of school holidays and nodded in agreement. “No, we can’t.”

Back in the dorm, fed and bathed, Hermione lay in bed. Unable to fall asleep due to the phantom hand on her throat and the voice of the man she loved most saying the most horrendous things, the young witch cried silently to herself.

Why would anyone do this? She tried to be a good person, to stay diligent in all aspects of her life, be kind and fair and true to her own beliefs. So why was this person targeting her?

It seemed though, that Draco was on her side.

Maybe she had been wrong about him all these years. Passed judgement too harshly…

_No, a few good deeds don’t negate the atrocities that he caused for years._

_But maybe, maybe he’s finally realised what an asshat he’s been. Maybe there’s a good person underneath all that generational brainwashing._


	17. Unknown Promise

What had transpired in the library went undetected by the teachers and faculty of the school as well as the students that resided in its walls. It seemed as if it may have been a fever dream, something that the young witch had imagined during one of her many night terror episodes.

The only evidence she had were the bruises on her stomach from when the Not Harry had landed blow after blow on her, as well as Draco being uncharacteristically sweet and caring.

The young Malfoy had started leaving hot cups of tea in their dorm room table, checking up on her every now and then and making sure she ate when she stayed in bed instead of going to the Great Hall for dinner.

Harry, of course, had also noticed the slight change in her attitude towards him. She had shrunk away from his touch the first few times they had been together after her ordeal, silently chastising herself for the involuntary movement and for the hurt that flashed across the Chosen Ones eyes.

Of course, the young witch knew that it hadn’t actually been Harry that had assaulted her, it hadn’t been in gentle hands that had bruised her throat and body, hadn’t been is tender mouth that had forced itself upon her. No, it had not been Harry, yet Hermione could not help but feel the unease in her gut whenever she saw him approaching.

He knew there was something wrong, but the fear of telling him what had happened, that he would see it as her own doing, that she was stupid for not doing more to prevent it happening always seemed to win out in the end. Those persistent thoughts, that she was just too weak to fight back, that this was why she was being targeted, had nestled need within her subconscious, always whispering those words of doubt.

Because that’s what happens when someone comes forward as a survivor. They’re constantly asked what they did to fight back, or did they scream. What were they wearing? Are they sure they just didn’t change their mind after the deed had already started? And although nothing so heinous happened to her the past two times, those lingering thoughts stuck with her.

What if it happened again? What if next time she wasn’t so lucky as to get away with just a few bruises and scrapes and cuts? Then she would have to tell someone, have to go through that entire mortifying ordeal with the questions and the doubtful eyes, the “are you sures?” and “it definitely wasn’t a dream?”

Bile started to rise in her throat as the swirling vortex of thoughts overtook her mind, the pounding in her head only second to the pounding in her chest. Her heart was beating so fast, she could see it through her chest and at the pressure points on her wrists.

So fast.

It won’t slow down.

Badum. Badum. Badum. Badum.

_I need water. I need something to cool me down._

A cold sweat had broken out across her forehead sending rampant shivers running up and down her spine, goosebumps standing to attention across her arms and vomit spewed forth from her.

Collapsing to her knees and clutching her head in her hands, the young witch cried and shivered and vomited, unable to move from the paralyzing fear that had overcome her body. Her vision was no longer there, instead narrowing down to a pinpoint of light in an otherwise completely black world.

_He’s going to come back for me._

All the young witch could do was vomit and clasp her head at this point. The fear of what lay before her overwhelming.

She knew she was going down a dark hole, and the further she fell, the harder it was going to be to pull herself back out. But there was no-one there to ground her, to pull her way from the edge. It was a chasm that had opened wide and beneath it was a terrifying alternative she didn’t want to consider.

“Hermione?”

The voice was so far away, something that had been haunting her nightmares since the library, taunting her in that vile way.

“Merlins Beard! Hermione!” It was as if whoever was speaking was underwater, everything was underwater. She was being crushed by the weight of millions of tons of water, pushing her small frame deeper and deeper, drowning out her cries for help, for salvation.

Hands slid under her shoulders, dragging the young witch to her feet. Those same hands were the ones that had bruised her abdomen, had chocked her so hard until she had passed out. Those hands would do terrible things to her unless she fought back.

But the young witch couldn’t move, her body wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t even clear up her vision so she could at least see his face while he hurt her over and over again.

_Is that rain? Why is it raining inside?_

The shivers that had taken over her body slowly subsided as the warm water trickled over her face and clothes, drenching her in a matter of moments.

_Is someone using magic to make it rain? It feels so beautiful, so relaxing._

Gentle hands wrapped themselves around the young woman’s wrists, tenderly trying to pry her hands away from her head, steadily untangling the hair that had managed to encompass her arms and face in what could only be described as a protective shield.

“Hermione, love, please.” His voice was so clear now, so gentle. There was not an ounce of malice or hatred held within it. “Let me help you, or at least let Ginny help you.”

_Gi-nny. Giiiinnnnyyy. Ginny. Weasley. Ginny Weasley. My friend. And Harry. My boyfriend._

Slowly, the young witch lowered her hands, the hair that had encapsulated them falling away with ease. Blinking a few times before lifting her head to look up at the people surrounding her, fresh tears sprung to her eyes.

Ron, Ginny and Harry crouched on the ground around her, worry and fear plastered over their faces, the Weasley siblings even more pale than usual, and Harry’s golden skin seemed ashen.

“Why… are you guys here?” The young witch asked, eyes wide and shiny from unshed tears.

“Malfoy came and got us, said he was worried about you and that something was going on.” Ginny said softly, reaching a tentative hand toward the bushy haired witch.

The two boys looked at each-other with what could only be described as concern and something like fear.

Why fear? Was it because there were scared for her? Fr what was happening to her?

“Why do you look like you’ve just seen someone die?”

The silence that followed that question was deafening, setting the young witches already frazzled nerves on edge.

“What happened?”

* * *

The young Malfoy knew that the girl who shared his dorm was struggling. Every night he could hear the screams that awoke her from whatever faceless horror haunted her dreams. She barely ate, barely left her room unless it was for classes. Not even the pull of her friends voices through her door were enough to compel the young witch too leave.

Her appearance had deteriorated drastically, hair becoming feral and eyes full of fear and apprehension of the next attack.

It was evident that the brilliant young woman was becoming unhinged.

Perfect.

What Draco had no expected, though, was her reliance on him for company and to remind her that she did indeed need to eat to survive. It was a bonus, and unforeseen boon, that worked magically in his favour.

When it was time for both of them to patrol the silent halls of the school at night, the young witch seemed to shrink into herself, making her form as small as she could without vanishing completely. And during the nights that they had off, Draco spent them fixing the cabinet in the Room of Requirement, making sure that the plan he had brought to the attention of the Dark Lord came to fruition.

It had been a week of this pathetic display of Grangers when something happened that took the young Malfoy completely by surprise.

At first it was just a slight pulsing in the air, magic radiating from an unknown source that came in gentle waves, lapping and caressing his own with the lightest touch. It danced around his own playfully, teasing with a sly come-hither movement before darting away in glee as his magic pursued.

Curiosity got the better of the young man as he rose from the studies before him, wandering around the empty common room before coming to a halt before his partners door.

It seemed as if the magic was stronger there, more playful, more… sinister.

Rage ad fear seemed to cause the magic that had been nothing but a sweet wave moments before to transform into something fearsome and wild, almost unhinged in its ferocity to protect its master.

Slowly, Draco opened the young witch’s bedroom door, curious about what he would find in the room beyond.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his fingers on the wooden door, body trembling with the sheer excitement of what could be causing such a burst of powerful magic. Yet, what his eyes found caused his blood to sing louder than he ever thought possible.

He was terrified, he was exhilarated. He felt fear for his own safety yet when he stepped through the doorway and entered what used to be a sanctuary for the girl before him, he could not help the lust and absolute adoration that sang throughout his body.

The colourful paintings he had glimpsed through the crack in her doorway months before, lay tattered on the ground. The four-poster bed that had once displayed the colours of Gryffindor house now lay smashed in a corner, the once bright reds and green a black so dark it seemed to absorb light.

Wave after wave of pure fear and hatred hit him with the force of the ocean behind it, slowly dragging him under its surface as the young witch who held his heart just stood in the centre of the room, tears the colour of blood streaking down her face.

_She’s absolutely perfect._

The awe the young man felt within, the adoration and love that had been buried beneath the surface came spilling forth, his magic coursing through his veins at a new level he had never felt before.

It pushed back against the offensive force that tried to drag him down to its murky depths, the wandless and silent magic Draco had been practicing for years finally coming into use. He was able to test the limits of his power against someone who was almost his equal.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, taking a steady step toward the witch.

She was more than he could have ever dreamed of.

“But I’m not ready for you to lose control just yet, My Love.” He whispered as the distance between them closed. “I need you to reserve that rage, that fear, that hatred, for another time.”

Hermione’s hair was like living flame, flicking about the pair in what could only be described as frantic preservation against whatever monster she was envisioning in her mind’s eye.

Tentatively, the Malfoy heir raised a hand, tenderly cupping the anguished womans cheek in an almost loving nature. “I really don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have,” slowly, Draco leaned in, mere inches away from her face. “But you’re still putting up a fight and I need you completely broken, just so I can rebuild you into what you can truly become. Be your true, powerful, self.”

He didn’t hesitate as he leaned in, sealing their lips together in what could only be described as possessive.

“I’ll go and get Potter,” Draco whispered, his forehead resting against hers as tears fell freely down her cheeks again.

Perhaps subconsciously, she knew that there was no point in fighting what was to come, but he knew, without a doubt, that she would fight until the bitter end. That was alright though, it was all worth it. With this display of magic and her headstrong ways, he knew that no-one would be able to stand in their way.

And the first to go, after Potter and Dumbledore, would be Voldemort himself.


End file.
